The Repository
by AbaddontheDevourer
Summary: A holding place for my future story ideas and one shots. Might also include 'omake' style writing if I read something and am inspired by it. Send me a PM if you read something that inspires you to write.
1. Harry Potter x DxD: Divine Encounter

**Occult Research Club – Kuoh Academy Old School Building**

The mood was tense as the two groups returned to the clubhouse after the battle at the abandoned church, which was followed by them being forced to flee in the face of overwhelming power.

Seraphim Gabriel, the strongest woman of Heaven, sister of the Leader of the Heavenly Host Michael, favored daughter of the Most Holy. She was a legend, her acts of valor on the battlefields inspiring fear in her enemies and rallying her allies, she was seen as the strongest woman to have fought in the Great War having been able to defeat some of the strongest fighters both sides had thrown at her.

The "Strongest and Most Beautiful Woman of Heaven" indeed.

And not only her peerage, but also Sona's who had come to assist them had made it our alive and unharmed. Growing up she knew she was strong, and though she knew she was outclassed by many older than her, never before had she been so overwhelmed. She might as well have been a small drop in the swirling deep that was Gabriel's power. She had no delusions that they had only escaped because Gabriel let them. The thought that she had let them go only to observe and see who they interacted with in order to kill all the devils in her territory before running them all down like dogs, nagged at the back of her mind. And it absolutely terrified her.

She knew that if Gabriel had wanted to kill them that no one would've known about it until a search party was organized and sent to find them. The worse part of it was that she knew Gabriel had the justification to do just that and get away with it.

Issei had attacked a Church, granted it was abandoned so a case could've been made that it was Fallen Territory, but nevertheless it wasn't part of her territory. What was troubling though was the Exorcist that they had fought, their own teacher Hadrian Potter.

Catching the eye of Sona, they both shivered as a thought passed through their mind, their teacher had been playing with them. The man hadn't even drawn his sword! To Sona who had spoken many times and enjoyed his company his identity completely blindsided her. She looked to see Issei sobbing on the couch quietly crying out for Asia, and blaming himself. They would need to get him to the Healers soon. He hadn't listened to her when she told everyone to close their eyes, being a second too slow he had caught sight of Gabriel's Divine Form and his eyes had been burned.

They heiresses of Gremory and Sitri as well as their peerages had been bested by a single Exorcist. They both knew that even without him calling for Gabriel's aid that they would've been dead as soon as Potter-sensei drew his sword.

That sword though. She couldn't help but feel an ominous vibe when she saw it, as if it desired to be unsheathed to slaughter the enemies that dared stand before its master. The sheer holiness of that weapon made her want to bury herself in the deepest darkest hole she could find in an attempt to escape.

"Kaichou?" Saji began, breaking the tense atmosphere though there was still fear etched on his face. "Who was that back there at the church? The way you and Rias-senpai started quivering in fear, not that I blame you, I've never seen a person who could do that to you."

Sona moved towards the window, brushing the curtain back until she peered out, her eyes darting to and fro making sure that they were all alone. "I think we're going to need tea if we're going to continue this discussion." Akeno said standing up and making her way towards the small kitchen adjacent to their clubroom. _Or maybe something stronger._ She thought seeing how just about everyone was still shivering from the divine messenger they had run into.

In the time it took for Akeno to return with a tray filled with tea, Rias and Yuuto had managed to drag Issei out of the corner where he had been sobbing to join them in the circle. Once the tea had been passed out Sona cleared her throat, before beginning her tale.

"Starting from the beginning for those newly resurrected and thus do not know our history. The Great War which had lasted for millennia ended roughly three centuries ago. Taking part in the conflict were the Devils, the Fallen Angels, and the Angels. No one is really sure what sparked the conflict but it quickly devolved into a bloody war that ravaged many dimensions and realms."

"In such a conflict it is common for heroes and legendary figures to take center stage. The Four Original Satans for our side, Azazel of the Grigori, God himself, Michael the Archangel and his sister Gabriel were the most prominent figures of the war."

"And that was Gabriel?" Issei asked, ceasing his sobbings.

Both Sona and Rias nodded as Rias continued the explanation for her friend. "Archangel Gabriel, the Strongest and Most Beautiful Woman of Heaven, The Favored Daughter of God. She was one of the First angels created and the only ones stronger than her were God and Michael. During the War she was a force to be reckoned with and in one of the final battles of the war she faced off against the 4 Satans at once before she was forced to retreat from her injuries. As a Seraph she bears 12 wings the maximum ever seen on an angel, but truthfully she deserved more."

"You must understand." Sona interrupted. "It wasn't only her overwhelming power that made her stand above but also her technique. Many of the Angels and Fallen had one tactic and skill, that was to fling their Light Spears en masse as fast as possible hoping to hit their targets. Some with more than one set of wings developed better flight skills, but even then it was nothing to brag about. From the records Gabriel was no different than this until a time when she disappeared off the battlefields, and when she returned her skills rivaled that of her brother's. Her choice of weapon was the spear, and her unparalleled skill the weapon as well as speed that no one could match allowed her to overwhelm entire armies."

"And we survived an encounter with her." Koneko stated.

"We survived only because she wanted us to." Rias said.

"Did you see her expression?" Sona asked. "When she first arrived she was shocked at being summoned, like it had been the last thing that she expected. But then when she caught sight of Potter-sensei she looked incredibly happy."

"I saw, and if her expression was anything to go by I'd say that those two had a long history together." Rias said. "It frightens me that all this time he has been here, and never once did we sense his presence."

Sona nodded, before pointing out. "One of the biggest problems is that he was here before you and I arrived, so technically this would've been his territory."

"But isn't this Buchou's territory?" Issei finally spoke up.

Both High Devils shook their heads. "Territory by unspoken agreement has always belonged to the first one to arrive there."

"Or the most powerful." Sona pointed out. "Something that neither of us can claim to be."

Everyone nodded their head in agreement, painful as it was to admit the truth. "Now that we have painfully been made aware of that fact, logic dictates that we gather all the information on our foe. So with that I'd like to open the floor to anyone who has any information on Potter-sensei."

Hearing no one speak up, Sona sighed, and pushed up her glasses before offering the first piece of information. "Hadrian James Potter. Born in England, traveled extensively as a child. No date of birth. Highly educated. He's been here for the last decade, making his claim to this land superior to our own."

"That sound like information straight from his resume." Rias pointed out. "Does anyone here know anything that wasn't read from a file?"

"He's a good teacher." Tsubaki spoke up. "His class if very challenging but I haven't heard a single person speak ill of him. Rumor has it that he goes so far as to offer private tutoring in an array of subjects."

Rias and Sona sighed, the information they were getting was leading them nowhere. "I've seen him observing the kendo club several times." Issei spoke up.

"I remember that too!" Saji said. "He was pointing out mistakes to the members, before the instructor got fed up with him, and challenged him to a match. He ended up in the hospital with broken ribs."

Rias moved quickly grasping the boy by the shoulders, "Think carefully, what can you tell me about how he fought?"

Saji tried to move back, but she had an iron grip on him. "Well they were both sparring with bokkens, but it looked like it was the first time Potter-sensei had held one. If I had to describe it, it looked like he was uncomfortable with a curved weapon. Anyways the match ended almost as soon as it began; one moment Potter-sensei was on his side the next he was behind the instructor who had fallen to the ground clutching his chest. Potter-sensei then went on to teach the rest of the club as if the fight hadn't happened."

"Hmmm. He did carry a sword with him, so a modicum of skill was expected."

"And it was straight." Koneko quipped. Rias smiled, at the slight crack that Koneko had made.

"Tomoe, Yuuto both of you are knights specializing in swords. What can you tell me about Potter-sensei's fighting abilities?" Sona asked.

Both were quiet for a few moments, as they thought about the man that had played around with them. "He's strong and fast. He easily caught up to my maximum speed, and caught Koneko's attacks as if he were attacked with a feather."

"He also repeatedly corrected us, poking us whenever we showed an opening. He kept score on how many times he could've killed us." Tomoe grimaced.

Yuuto shivered, remembering his tally. "In the 5 minutes or so that I fought him, he tagged me 156 times."

"Lucky you." Tomoe grumbled. "He simply chuckled and told me to go back to basics and come back in 50 years."

"What about his sword?"

"It was definitely a holy weapon, but its aura was…restrained?" Yuuto said.

"So you noticed the chains that were wrapped around it." Rias said. "I wonder which Holy sword it is."

"At this point we need to face facts." Sona said. "Rias if both of us and our peerages ambushed him what do you think our chances are?"

"Non-existent." She replied cynically. "Disregarding his own skills, which we know next to nothing about, he can summon Gabriel in an instant. Should she appear I have no delusions that we would be annihilated in a matter of seconds without the support of either my brother or your sister.


	2. Something New and Strong

Hello to all. A new addition to the Repository has been created and this time it's a response to Dis Lexic's **Something New and Strong Challenge**. Challenge information can be found on DZ2's forums under the subheading My Fan's Challenge. This is the first time I'm doing a response so tell me what you think. Without further ado here is a short take.

* * *

Floo travel one of the Wizarding World's most common forms of transportation, and unfortunately for Harry it was one that he was tempted to forever swear off.

It felt as if he were being sucked into a giant drain as he spun faster and faster with each passing second. Through the nausea induced haze he glimpsed different rooms, stopping for the faintest of seconds before the sensation returned.

Over and over the cycle repeated. Stop. Suck. Stop. Suck. The nausea grew as he felt icy hands slapping at his face, his breakfast fighting its way back up his throat as he suppressed the urge to vomit.

Just as he prayed that it would finally stop, it did. He shot from the fireplace, landing face forward onto the cold stone floor, as he felt the bridge of his glasses break once again.

"Ugggghhhhh." He groaned, the nausea overcoming him, preventing him from moving for several seconds. After about a minute his stomach settled as he got up. Dizzied and covered in soot, he found himself hacking as he spat and coughed. Waving his hands to try and fan away the dust, he got his first look at where he ended up.

At first glance he could tell that he was alone, but where exactly he had no idea. The shop, which he guessed it was due to all the items with price tags attached to them, was dimly lit. Looking at some of the items he saw he knew he was definitely not in one of the shops he had visited last year as some of the items on display emitted a sense of foreboding.

One of the cases held a withered hand on a dusty velvet cushion, another display had a bloody set of playing cards, and he couldn't shake the feeling he was getting from the evil looking masks that stared at him from the walls. Several of the instruments on display immediately made him think of the Inquisition and his mind wondered what tortures they had inflicted on people.

What was worst was that he couldn't recognize anything he saw out of the small dirty window of the shop face.

The sooner he got out of here the better. Even the dangers of the unknown wouldn't dissuade him from the wrongness that surrounded the shop he was in. His nose still stinging from when he landed against the stone he made his way to the door, and saw the last person that he wanted to see.

Draco Malfoy.

Suppressing a groan at the appearance of his so-called rival he retreated from the door and pressed himself into a nearby cabinet. There was a single crack barely large enough for him to see through, but it still gave him enough of a view to spy the entrance of the shop, and most importantly the small bell that rang as Malfoy entered the shop.

 _If I'd opened that door chances are I would've triggered some sort of ward._ He thought clicking his tongue in frustration.

A few seconds later a man that could only by Draco's father walked into the shop. "Touch nothing Draco." The man said, his hand shooting forth to grab the wrist of his son who was about to touch a crystal skull.

"But father. You promised me a birthday present."

"A broom Draco. That's what I promised you. The items here would do nothing but damage someone like you." Mr. Malfoy said, staring at his son. The conversation droned on as Draco whined about his life, and how Potter was getting more attention than him. A part of Harry was pleased at causing his nemesis no end of grief and wondered what he could do in the upcoming year to continue the tradition.

"Mr. Borgin." Malfoy's father drawled looking at the stooping man who had just emerged from the back of the shop.

"Ah Mr. Malfoy, a pleasure to see you once again. And this must be young Draco." The man leered. "How may I be of assistance to you today? I've recently acquired a stock of-"

"I'm not here to buy Borgin." Mr. Malfoy said cutting him off. The smile fell from the man. "You may have heard that the Ministry is conducting more raids and I find myself in the need to unload some of my more questionable pieces." The Malfoy patriarch reached into his robes and handed over a piece of parchment.

Borgin began reading it over. "Can I have that?" Both men turned to Draco who was pointing towards the withered hand Harry had seen earlier.

"The hand of Glory." Borgin explained. "Insert a candle into the hand and it will create a light only visible to the holder. It's the perfect item for thieves and plunderers."

"I hope my son would amount to more." Mr. Malfoy said coldly glaring at both his son and Borgin. "However his recent grades do not give me much hope."

"It's not my fault!" Draco screamed. "All the teachers favor Hermione Granger."

"You should be ashamed of yourself. Being beaten by a girl who just entered our world."

 _Hahaha._ Harry mentally chuckled. He couldn't wait to tell Hermione about this.

"I am in a hurry right now, but I expect you to come by as soon as possible to pick up those goods." Mr. Malfoy said, as they finished haggling over the prices. "Come Draco."

The Malfoys departed, leaving Borgin grumbling about being cheated on his prices and blonde haired gits. Muttering darkly he disappeared into the back rooms once more, allowing Harry to breathe freely once more.

Slowly opening the cabinet he stepped back into the shop, smiling at his success in hiding. _Too much experience with Dudley._ He thought grimly. _Now to get out of here._

In spectacular Potter fashion, he took a single step towards freedom and his weight came crashing down on a squeaky floorboard.

"Is someone there?" Came from the backroom.

 _Shit._ Harry mentally screamed. Crouching in a textbook image of the rocket position he kicked off the ground and sprinted towards the door.

At least he was pretty sure it was the door considering that his glasses were severely cracked and he was blind as a bat without them on. So it was no surprise to him when he repeatedly crashed into several cabinets on his way out.

Throwing open the door he stepped out into the light and bumped into Hagrid.

"Harry? What d'yeh think yer doin' down here?"

* * *

After reuniting with the Weasleys and a disastrous meeting in Flourish and Blotts they went to the Leaky Cauldron where once again he was subjected to the sickening feeling that came with Floo Travel. Thankfully this time he shot out of the fireplace to crash into the living room of the Burrow rather than a dodgy shop.

Heading towards the room where he was staying he put away all his supplies, before shedding off his robes. A faint clinking immediately drew his attention as he shook his robes once more. _Clink. Clink._ Tilting his head in confusion he rummaged through the pocket of his robe and felt his hand close around two things that he definitely did not remember having previously.

In his left hand was a silver ring with a rectangular alabaster stone set into the face. Intricately engraved with arcane symbols on the band, he could feel a small trickle of power emanating from the ring.

Withdrawing his right hand he could feel his jaw slowly falling towards the floor as the object broke all his thoughts. _How is this possible?_ He thought withdrawing a 2 foot long wand like item from a 3 inch deep pocket. The wand was unlike any he had ever seen before in that it was made from some sort of black metal. Emerald lines flowed through it like veins, and at one end was an emerald cross. The head was topped by a white star enclosed in a black metal circle. Small gems were imbedded at each point of the star, and the circle flared into a pair of incredibly detailed wings. Putting the wand on the bed he peered into the pocket that it just came out of, before slowly backing away.

 _I've clearly listened to too much Doctor Who recordings._ He numbly thought removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was like this for a minute before temptation proved too much and he chuckled. "It's bigger on the inside."

Sitting back on his bed he absently rolled the ring atop his knuckles. _I wonder._ Flipping the ring into the air he caught it with his left hand. "Gryffindors charge forward." Saying that he slipped the ring onto the ring finger of his right hand.

There was a whoosh as he felt a hooking sensation behind his navel as he was dragged through space.

"Oh you've got to be shitting me." He heard a woman say.

"You're joking me." Another woman said.

Fixing his glasses he saw the two women who had spoken. The first was an incredibly beautiful red head with piercing green eyes similar to his own. She was dressed in a black business suit with a white shirt and black shoes.

The other was a black haired woman with brown eyes, and she was wearing a leather jacket black boots and leather pants.

"Er. Hi?" He said.

The red hear face palmed as the raven haired one laughed. "Really interesting kid you've got here Lily."

"Shut it Tess." Lily said.

The name evoked images from the album that Hagrid had given to him last year. "Mum?" He whispered.

Her response was to embrace him gently. "Hello baby"

"I hate to break this up, but the only reason that your son would be here is if he has the ring." Tess said breaking up their reunion before it could really get started. Lily let go of him, and took a step back, brushing away a stray tear. "You're in no shape to do the introductions." Tess sighed, shaking her head.

"Welcome Harry James Potter. My name is Tessa, and I am a Reaper." As she said that the space around them was filled with cracks as thousands of people appeared, all wearing the same mortician's garb.

"We welcome you who have ascended past mortality. We welcome you, Lord Death."

* * *

And cut! For those that couldn't figure it out this would've been a crossover between Harry Potter and Supernatural. Harry would've become Death following the demise of the previous one. Virtual cookie to anyone that could figure out what the other object that Harry pulled out of his pocket was. I'm going to do a followup and make it a sort of alternate in which he decides to play with that instead of the ring.

* * *

Challenge Information

 **Plot** **:** Harry's luck wasn't completely horrible when he ended up in Borgin and Burks after his disastrous attempt at Flooing for the first time, but his enemies certainly was. Now, armed with a power never before seen in in the Wizarding World and some potential new friends, Harry's enemy's will rue the day they crossed him.

 **RULES!**

Must start in the second year after the attempt at Flooing.

Before he escapes the shop, Harry must find something that he takes with him when he leaves, either deliberately or by accident (For example, it falls into his pocket or gets caught on his robe and he does't notice)

The item can be anything, but it has to grant him a power somehow.

Crossovers in as far as Harry's power.

If the crossover world takes place on Earth, Harry must meet a character from that world. This does not mean that the story has to be a complete crossover, you could just have him meet a fellow Hogwarts student who happens to be a copy of said character.

Any paring welcome (but please no slash)

Any morality welcome.

 **FORBIDDEN!**

Weak Harry

 **SUGGESTIONS!**

Full on Crossovers (because I love em!)

The power granted not being immediately obvious. (EG. it triggers when Harry's in danger/under certain circumstances)

 **And that'll do. I hope people will take up this idea because I'd love to see some cool ideas!**


	3. Something New and Strong Alternative

Putting the ring down onto the bed he examined the 'wand'. Giving it a wave like he had previously done in Ollivander's he was disappointed when nothing happened.

Looking around, and making sure that no one saw him, he gripped it tightly and pointed it at one of his packages. Channeling magic through it he incanted. " _Wingardium Leviosa."_ The package failed to rise to his displeasure.

"Tch." He clicked. "What are you?"

Placing the wand to the side he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

In the darkness of the night emerald lightning began crackling lighting up the room ominously.

A powerful male voice was heard.

 **Power levels at 35%. Connection with kaleidoscopic realm unstable.**

 **Combat efficiency has fallen below optimal levels.**

 **Releasing mana pulse.**

 **Od detected.**

 **Surge traced.**

 **Initiating Contract with Od.**

 **Contract Accepted.**

 **Connection with kaleidoscope stabilizing. Power levels rising.**

 **Confirm connection with experimental installation.**

 **Connection confirmed.**

 **Kaleidostick Emerald ready for engagement.**

 **Local time 4:59.**

The kaleidostick began to rise before tilting and flying towards Harry's head. With its wings it began beating the boy over the head screaming, **"Get up maggot!"**

With a scream, Harry jumped out of bed and immediately stood ramrod straight. "What the bloody hell."

 **"Good you're up."** Emerald said tilting back and forth in an impressive interpretation of a nod. **"My creator wants to have a word with you."**

Saying that a light shot from the star and hit the wall, forming a picture. An old man dressed like a gentleman stared into what must've been a camera as he adjusted the picture. The man's most prominent feature was the blood red eyes and white hair. "Hello Harry Potter my name is Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, and I'd like to make you an offer."


	4. Mark of Zeus

Author's Note: This is definitely one of the darker things I've written and under no circumstance do I condone abuse as described here. This is a response of DZ2's Mark of Zeus Challenge. This as well as Dis Lexic's Magic Knight Challenge and DZ2's Emerald Arrow Challenge are on the table for a possible new story.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall knew that something was wrong from the first moment that she stepped foot on the boundary of #4 Privet Drive.

The entire neighborhood had an eerie quietness to it that immediately set the cat animagus on edge. A small voice whispered in the back of her mind telling her to turn around and walk away.

In her hand she held an acceptance letter to Hogwarts, it had been returned to them unopened with an attached letter telling them not to contact them again. The letter had set off warning bells, and she wasted no time in bringing it to the Headmaster's attention.

Dumbledore had sent her off to hand deliver the letter, stating that there must've been some sort of mistake made. _It's his fault I'm here._ She shivered, doing her best to ignore the ominous feeling that threatened to smother her as took a step onto the doorstep. Her inner cat was becoming increasingly restless. The only times that this happened was when bead storms were set to hit the castle. She hoped that Young Harry would accept the letter and their business would be concluded. If her restlessness was any measurement she didn't want to be anywhere near here when the storm hit.

Giving a sharp rap on the door she stepped back.

Silence.

Once again she knocked this time harder. The same answer. She was already reaching into her robes to draw her wand when she heard the faint scurrying of feet grow louder as someone rushed to answer the door.

The door opened wide enough for a head to slip through. _Petunia Evans._ Minerva thought distastefully, having had the misfortune to meet the horse face woman previously.

"Yes who is it?" Petunia asked her head held high as she attempted to look down on Minerva.

"Good afternoon. I am Professor McGonagall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We sent a letter to Mr. Potter that was returned unopened."

Petunia's face turned white as a sheet. "I'm sorry we don't want what you're selling!" The woman exclaimed quickly slamming the door shut on Minerva's disbelieving face. "DON'T COME BACK HERE!"

 _How rude._ Minerva thought, drawing her wand and discretely casting an unlocking charm at the door. "YOU! I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE!" Petunia screeched.

"And I have business with Mr. Potter." Minerva explained. "Kindly tell me where he is and I can leave after our business is concluded."

"What? So you can take him to that Freak school of yours?" Petunia snarled.

"My dear Aunt." A calm and smooth voice interjected before Minerva could voice her response. "What have we said about using the F word?"

Minerva turned to see a young boy dressed neatly in casual pants and a polo. He had slicked back black hair, revealing a blemish free forehead, and piercing green eyes as warm as the arctic.

"You know how Dudley feels every time you say that. The poor boy still hasn't gotten over his weight issues, and every time that word is brought up you exacerbate the problem."

"Mr. Potter?" Minerva asked timidly, trying to connect the image of the giggling boy she had bounced on her lap to this cold person in front of her. She hated to think it but his actions reminded her more of the Darker Heads of Houses than it did a young boy.

"Good afternoon Madame. What can I do for you?" Harry asked, fixing her with his killing curse green eyes.

"I'm here to discuss why your letter was returned to us unopened." Minerva said holding up his acceptance letter.

He tilted his head quizzically, before motioning towards the sitting room. "Perhaps we should retire to the sitting room. It seems like there are many things that need to be discussed."

"I would hate to impose." Minerva began only to stop when she saw him shaking his head.

"It's no trouble. Petunia wouldn't mind either would she?" He asked looking at his aunt who only shook her head. When both Harry and Minerva had sat down he said. "Petunia, tea." His aunt scurried off to the kitchen. "Now while we are waiting for her to return, it's probably best that we begin."

Minerva nodded. "My name is Professor McGonagall and I am teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We recently sent you a letter extending an invitation to join our prestigious school, only for it to return to us unopened. With a note saying not to contact you again."

He held out his hand, and Minerva understood the gesture, quickly handing over his letter. Instead of tearing it open like she had seen many children do, or stare at it in disbelief, he calmly reached into his pocket and withdrew a small knife. Slicing open the letter he pulled out the parchment and set the envelope to the side, put away his knife and began reading.

 **Dear Mr. Potter,**

 **We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**

 **Term begins on September 1. We await your own by no later than July 31.**

He had just finished reading the letter aloud when his aunt returned, almost dropping the tray that she was carrying. "Am I correct in assuming that you are the same Minerva McGonagall that signed this letter?" He asked.

"You are." She answered, seeing the boy nod in response, as he poured himself a cup of tea.

"How do you like yours?" He asked, readying a second cup.

"Just a little milk." She answered taking the cup after he had finished pouring it. "If you're ready, I will escort you to Diagon Alley where you can purchase all your supplies."

"What makes you think that I'm going?" Harry asked gracefully sipping his tea. He allowed a small smile to show as the Professor choked on her tea.

"It's the law!" Minerva said. "All magicals must at least receive an education to their O.W.L. or else have their wand snapped and be exiled from the magical world."

"Considering that I do not have a wand. Why should I care?" Harry asked putting his tea down, and reaching for a biscuit.

Minerva was dumbfounded, and only years of experience as being stern faced prevented her from gaping like a fish. "But you must attend! Hogwarts has educated every member of your family for the last thousand years."

"Maybe it's time for that to change." Harry mused. "Besides the law says that a magical must receive their O.W.L.s to keep their wand. It doesn't say anything about me being forced to attend Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts is the finest institute of Magical Education in the World." Minerva said testily.

"Really? According to whom?" Harry asked raising a brow. "Is there an international ranking scale that would prove that what you said is not a boast due to you being affiliated with the school in a teaching capacity? I mean if it were anything but the best it would reflect poorly upon you as you are one of the teachers under its employ."

Minerva couldn't help it, never before had a student speak to her like this. Her mouth open and closed dumbly as she tried to respond. It had been many years since she last took a look at the lists compiled by ICW and in that time their position may have changed. If she foolishly tried to tell him that they were #1 and he checked and they weren't it would prove that he was right. "I'd have to check the records released by the ICW." Minerva said sourly.

"Please do." He responded. "Boasting that you're the best when you're really not would be sad and a lie. So since we've established that Hogwarts being #1 in the world if a dubious fact, can you give me another reason to attend there, rather than say a school in the warmth of France or even emigrating to America and seeking my education there?"

"That would be a disaster!" Minerva blurted out, before her jaw snapped shut.

"Really, what makes me so special?" He asked, pouring himself another cup of tea.

 _Why is the boy so Slytherin?_ Minerva mentally cried. "Well?" He repeated, sitting back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

She hesitated for a few seconds, before beginning her story. She told him of the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He scoffed at the title, chuckling at the look she sent him for interrupting her. Continuing she told him about the Dark Lord's Army, Death Eaters, and how they had spread terror throughout the country. His parents had fought against them only to be forced into hiding where they were ultimately hunted down by the Dark Lord himself. They had been killed but when Voldemort (he had finally forced her to reveal the Dark Lord's name) had tried to kill him his spell had backfired. He who was the only survivor of the Killing curse became the boy-who-lived.

"So I'm some sort of cultural icon." Harry drawled. "My not showing up would deal a severe blow to the school's reputation wouldn't it."

"Yes." Minerva said sourly, wondering what sort of concessions the boy would try to force on them. "However you must attend Hogwarts."

"You haven't convinced me that I should."

Minerva sighed; this was going nothing like she had planned. "Take my hand Mr. Potter; perhaps Professor Dumbledore will be able to convince you."

"Why where are going?"

"Hogwarts, and I am going to apparate us there."

"Apparate?"

"Apparition is a skill that adult wizards and witches learn that allows for almost instantaneous travel over certain distances." She saw the boy hesitating. "It's perfectly safe." She reassured, ignoring the fact that there was always that chance of splinching yourself.

He took her hand, and felt the entire world compress on him as it felt like he was being squeezed through a straw.

* * *

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had just gotten back from another meeting with the Minister where he had o once again explain that his proposals were for the Greater Good. Sometimes he wondered how the incompetent man had managed to gain power before remembering that he had turned down the job, and that he was nothing more than Lucius' patsy.

"It's all for the Greater Good." He repeated to himself, rubbing his forehead before popping a lemon drop into his mouth. Feeling the wards activate, he wondered who had just apparated onto the grounds. The list of people with permissions to do so wasn't long, and he had his answer a minute later when his fireplace roared to life.

Minerva's face appeared in the green flames. "Hello Albus, are you busy right now?"

"What seems to be the problem?" Dumbledore asked.

"I have Mr. Potter, in my office now and he's still undecided on whether or not he's going to attend Hogwarts."

When she said that he felt his entire world begin crashing around his ears. All his plans depended on Harry attending Hogwarts, not to mention the fact that even with all his popularity he would be publically lynched in Diagon Alley if people found out that their Savior was not going to attend Hogwarts.

He could afford to be late to a meeting so long as it secured the boy's attendance, and if worst came to worse he could always fall back on _that_. "Come on through." He said opening the grate wider.

His Deputy was the first one through, followed quickly by a young boy dressed in a white polo and black slacks and shoes. His current demeanor, the way that he carried himself as well as his dress set off warning bells in his head. Harry Potter was supposed to be a downtrodden orphan willing to accept them and would seek acceptance from the teachers as well as develop a grandfatherly relationship with him. Everything that he was seeing about the boy told him that that was not going to happen.

"So you're the one responsible for placing me with the Dursleys?" Harry drawled, staring at the man responsible for his current situation. If anyone had looked closely they would've seen chips of blue appearing in his eyes, as well as small discharges on his fingers.

"It was for the Greater Good." Dumbledore explained. "You're mother's love and sacrifice allowed for me to anchor the blood wards to your aunt. So long as you lived in the same house the wards would not allow anyone to enter the property who wished you harm."

"So if she were no longer alive then the wards would fall." Harry asked.

Something about the way he said it immediately set everyone's mind on edge. "Theoretically yes." Dumbledore nodded. "Now what's this about you not wishing to attend Hogwarts?"

"I didn't say that." Harry explained. "I said that I would make my decision based on this school's rankings in comparison to the global average. Why should I waste my time attending what might be a third-rate school when I could attend a more prestigious one?"

"My boy, Hogwarts is number one in the World." Dumbledore chided gently.

"So you and your Deputy have relatedly said. Yet the fact remains that I don't believe you." Harry said simply.

Both of the teachers were shocked. "My dear boy-" Dumbledore started.

"I am not nor will be your boy. If you want me to start believing anything you say the least you can do is start using my name."

"Harry-"

"I'm sorry when did we become familiar enough for you to use my first name?" He asked tilting his head.

Everyone's jaw shut with an audible click. "Mr. Potter show some respect for the Headmaster."

"First off respect is earned Madam, and he does not have mine. Secondly he may be the Headmaster of Hogwarts, but I am not a student here. Nor am I awed by his presence."

"Mr. Potter your parents would've wanted you to attend."

"What they want is irrelevant seeing as they are no longer among the living." Harry replied curtly. "And according to what I know of my mother she would've preferred me to attend the best school possible. Which I remind you, you have not convinced me that your school is."

"It may take some time to gather the information you want." Dumbledore said slowly.

"I can wait." Harry said sitting back in his chair.

"A few days."

"I do not enjoy your delaying tactics. If this information is not your priority, then attending this school would not be mine." Harry threatened.

They sat in silence for a few moments. _This is bad._ Dumbledore thought. There was no way the boy would choose to stay at Hogwarts if he saw the international rankings. While still a top ranked school Hogwarts rating has been on a steady decline for almost 10 years, not to mention the fact that their Defensive Magics O.W.L.s have been abysmal for almost 50 years. The less said about the potions score the better. _It looks like I need to play my trump card. To think that it needs to be used already. Hopefully I'll be able to earn the boy's trust in the coming year._ "I'm sorry to say that you have no choice but to attend Hogwarts." Dumbledore said sadly.

"Oh?" Harry asked. "And pray tell why would I be forced to attend?"

"When you were born you're parents like many other of the older families wrote your name down in the Book of Names which records all future students. In addition they paid your tuition in full."

"So refund the money."

"It's not that simple." Dumbledore said shaking his head. "When you're parents paid your tuition they signed a binding magical contract guaranteeing your enrollment."

"So you're telling me that I never had any choice in the matter?" Harry questioned his voice becoming strangely calm. "That I'm being forced to attend here against my will. It would not be a stretch to say that I am going to be kidnapped and held in internment for 10 months of the year here."

"You're not a prisoner." Minerva finally spoke up.

"A bird in a gilded cage is still locked in a cage." Harry snapped. "The fact of the matter is that I don't want to be here yet I'm being forced to stay."

There was a burst of flames as Fawkes appeared just outside the window. For the first time since they had arrived they looked outside to see dark storm clouds, gathering overhead. Just as Fawkes was about to sing, a large bolt of lightning crashed into him.

"I guess your turkey died." Harry shrugged, feeling slightly better with each bolt the storm released.

"Fawkes is a phoenix Harry, he'll be fine." Dumbledore said eyes twinkling. "Now where were we? Ah yes you're attendance." A brief look of annoyance passed on Harry's face as another bolt of lightning cracked overhead this time striking the astronomy tower.

"The list." He said holding out his hand. Minerva hesitantly handed it over feeling a jolt pass through her as their hands touched.

He read it over quickly before pocketing it. "I'd like to leave now."

"I'll escort you back home." Minerva said offering her hand. "We'll need to apparate once more."

She saw the distaste in his face, as he touched her hand.

The last thing Dumbledore heard from the boy was, "I'll remember this."

* * *

They appeared with a crack on the doorstep of Privet Drive.

"Don't you think that's going to draw people's attention?" He asked raising a brow.

"The wards around the house prevent others from noticing." Professor McGonagall. "To buy you're supplies you'll need to go to Diagon Alley which can be accessed through the Leaky Cauldron Pub in London."

"And how am I supposed to pay for my supplies?" Harry asked.

"Your parents left you a vault at Gringotts, which is at the far end of the Alley. You can't miss it." McGonagall said withdrawing a key from her pocket. "Use this to open the vault. Lastly to get to Hogwarts you need to take the Express. The express is located in King's Cross Station Platform 9 ¾."

She handed over a golden ticket. "Do you need anything else?"

"Yes a complete copy of the rules and regulations." Harry said. "If I'm being forced to attend this the least I could do is know what exactly I can and can't do in my prison."

"Once again Mr. Potter Hogwarts is not a prison. All were trying to do is to help you."

"By kidnapping and forcing me to stay against my will?" He sneered taking the key and ticket from her hand and walking back into the home.

Minerva couldn't help but feel a pit forming in her stomach. Already she knew that this was going to be an interesting year, she only prayed that she would live long enough to see Mr. Potter graduate and leave.

* * *

After Harry had closed the door he went out to the backyard. "So it's just like you said."

The wind whistled in response, gently caressing him.

"Haha, yeah I really don't like the old goat. Hopefully their society isn't as backwards as you say."

This time the wind howled, the air smelling of ozone.

"No. No. I know you've never steered me wrong before, it's just that there's a first for everything."

Another gentle breeze.

"Did you really have to shoot that Phoenix out of the sky?" He asked.

This time the wind sounded like a flute.

He sighed. "You can't claim dominion over the entire sky and shoot down any other birds."

Another gust.

"Yes I'm sure. No matter how much you think he's an affront to your majesty." Harry said, extending an arm. "You're coming with me right? If the school is as bad as you say I'll need you with me to help control my urges." A final breeze this time whipping around him to envelop him like a hug.

"Thanks my friend." Harry smiled. "Now I have to remind Petunia about what happens when she uses the F word where I can hear it." He heard the door open and close once more, followed by the heavy footfalls that he had come to associate with both his cousin and uncle. "Speak of the devil." Harry smiled viciously. "It looks like everything I need to teach her a lesson has arrived."

Stepping back into the house he saw his Aunt trying to send Dudley back outside. "Tsk, Tsk. I need him for punishment dear Aunt." Harry said. He caught sight of the familiar cast iron skillet that had been used so many times. Holding out his hand the skillet flew into his palm as he gripped it tightly. "Do you remember this?"

"Please don't." She whimpered.

"When I was 4 you hit me with this because I burned your breakfast. You called me a freak, devil child, and told me my parents were drunks who died in a car accident." Lightning began to crackle along the skillet. "Back then I hated you; I thought the best way to hurt you was to do so directly. Now though, I'm much more versed in the art of causing pain." Extending his free hand, he pointed his fingers at Vernon. "You obese sorry excuse for a man. I want to try something new today and see if I can make the fat on your body melt." With those ominous words lightning launched from his fingers striking his uncle in the chest. The whale collapsed to the floor moaning as he kept the power levels to around what a taser would be like. After about 30 seconds he let up. "You feel that throbbing pain? The pounding of your heart as it gets back into rhythm? You have your wife to blame." _You know with the number of years I've been doing this to him I'm actually surprised his heart hasn't given out yet._

"Now my dear aunt, you know how much it hurts Dudley every time you say the F word. I think 5 strikes should drive home the lesson." Harry said holding the skillet out for her to take.

"No. Please. Don't make me do it."

"Take the skillet and I expect you to put your all into it. Just like when you hit me. If you don't I'll have to make it 10." He said calmly, smirking as she took the skillet in shaky hands.

The look on his cousin's face filled him with warm fuzzy feelings. "I'm sorry Diddykins." Petunia cried, tears streaming down her face as she swung the skillet with all her might smacking her son in the arm. Thwack. The iron skillet met his cousin's flabby arm. Thwack another strike this time to the other arm. She alternated between the arms, the two of them crying in pain.

"Why are you crying?" Harry asked. "I didn't cry when you tried to split my skull with the pan. I guess the apple doesn't fall from the tree. This fat bastard's just like his father. Weak, inept, doomed to grow up to be just as large a failure. What about it Petunia, should we put him out of his misery?"

The woman cried even louder, as Harry brought both his hands up and like a puppet master manipulated the strings of his doll. Her limbs jerked wildly, clumsily as the electrical signals in her brain fired to bring the skillet over her head. Closing both hands and pulling them towards him, her arm dropped faster than what was humanly possible. _This'll cause too many problems._ A small voice in the back of his mind said, causing him to sigh as his finger lazily twitched, diverting the strike at the last moment.

"AAAHAHHHHHHHHH" Petunia screamed feeling the bones in her arm break as they were unable to cope with the stresses that he had forced them to go through.

"I want food in 20 minutes. Bring it to my room, oh and Vernon, throw your son in the cupboard there's no need for a freak like him to get medical care." Smiling at the terror that the Dursleys were under he turned around and headed towards the master bedroom. "Oh yes. It's good to be bad."

* * *

Challenge Information

 **Okay guys, this one was inspired by my good friend The Modern Sorcere** **r, so my thanks to him for that.**

 **DZ2's 'The Mark of Zeus' Challenge**

 **Plot:** The collision of Light and Dark magic had an unforeseen side-effect on Harry; not a Horcrux, but access to the most-powerful, most-destructive and unpredictable force of nature.

 **Rules:** All affinities are welcome

It is up to the writer when the story starts

Harry MUST have control over the elemental force of Lightning

Whenever Harry gets stressed, there are either sparks dancing on him or thunder rumbling nearby

Harry's Electrokinetic abilities have an effect on technology and machines and because of this, he can use technology at Hogwarts

If the story starts in first year, he can go to any House

All pairings are welcome

 **Guidelines:** Technomage-Harry

Harry has control of a power similar to Electrokinesis (Plasma, Ion, Energy, Magnetism/Electromagnetism, Psychic-Lightning etc.)

Harry discovers another elemental power

Crossovers

Other elementals at Hogwarts

Harry's power means that he is labelled as a Dark Wizard or a Dark Lord regardless of affinity

To restore/strengthen his power, Harry draws strength from electrical sources (like in Infamous)

Slash

Harry uses a weapon to focus his power

 **Forbidden:** Weak Harry

Harry as a Horcrux

Harry being a naive person

 **Other than that, it's up to you...**


	5. Magical Knight

Author's Note: So this is my response to Dis Lexic's Magic Knight Challenge. It is a cross over between Harry Potter and Campione with a bit of Dragon Age: Inquisition and Dragon's Dogma, two of my favorite games.

* * *

It was a cold November night. Silent save for the rare howling of the window. A lone cat sat perched atop a brick wall, its slitted eyes darting from shadow to shadow watching everything. As if moved by an unseen force the feline stalked towards the middle of the road a sentry in the middle of the one way in and out of the cul-de-sac. It barely had a chance to sit back on its haunches when a sound like gunfire broke the silence. Crack! Crack! Crack! The once lone cat was suddenly surrounded by 3 cloaked figures, its eyes narrowing as its tail poised straight into the air. The lead figure was something that was rarely ever seen in the 'normal' street of Privet Drive, his clothes would not have been out of place in a fantasy reenactment of Renaissance festival. He was tall, thin, and very old his beard and hair a dull white. His beard was tucked into his belt and atop his head he wore a blue wide brim pointed cap decorated with silver stars. He wore long robes, a purple cloak that dragged the ground and high-heeled buckled boots. His blue eyes normally twinkling in merriment were subdued, dull and filled with sadness behind his half-moon spectacles. His nose was long and crooked as if it had been repeatedly broken and never set properly. If any of the inhabitants of the street had seen him no doubt he would've had to make a quick getaway as everything about him screamed 'unnatural' and that was not welcome in this 'normal' neighborhood.

Albus however did not care, and was busy rummaging around his sleeves, pulling out odd bits and gadgets before putting them back, as he searched for something. "Aha!" He exclaimed pulling out what looked like a silver lighter. Flicking the top open he spun the wheel, and only instead of creating a flame the nearest street light suddenly went out, a ball of light zooming into the lighter. Over and over he repeated the action until not a single street light remained, the only light coming from a house at the other end of the street. Once this was done he stowed the lighter back in his sleeves and turned his attention to the cat that was in front of him.

"Good evening Professor McGonagall." The cloaked figure on his right greeted, her voice light and melodic. She pushed back the cowl of the cloak and shook free her fiery locks, her piercing green eyes locking with the slitted amber pupils of the cat.

The cat now identified as Professor McGonagall shifted, her form growing larger and more human as the seconds passed, until a stern looking woman, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, stood before them dressed in emerald robes. "And a good evening to you Albus." She greeted before turning to her former students, warmly. "Lily, James the both of you are no longer students of mine, please call me Minerva."

"Ok Mini." James grinned, enjoying the slight ribbing he gave his god-mother.

She smiled at her godson, "scamp." Before she turned to the group. "How did you know it was me?"

James gave snorted, "I've never seen such a stern looking cat."

"Nor one who sat so stiffly." Dumbledore chimed.

"For me it was the markings on your face, they remind me of your glasses." Lily answered.

"You'd be stiff too if you had been sitting atop a wall all day."

"All day?" Dumbledore said surprised. "You didn't celebrate?"

"I'm not like the others; excessive frivolity to the point that they've repeatedly broken the Statute of Secrecy is not the way I choose to celebrate." She hissed in anger, her opinion on those that were blatantly ignoring the rules was crystal clear. "To think that one Dark Lord has fallen only for us to be exposed to the Muggle World! It'd be a nightmare!"

"True, but this is the first time we've had peace in a decade." Dumbledore pointed out. "Their merriment is expected since some have never known peace their entire lives."

Her face softened as she nodded. "And how are you Lily, James? Why aren't you at St. Mungo's getting treated? It hasn't even been 3 days since the attack on Halloween."

James just shook his head. "The healers checked us out already. Both of us were hit by some sort of dark stunning spell but they told us there should be no residual effects that won't clear up within a week."

"You're awfully calm for having been attacked by the most powerful Dark Lord in recent history." Minerva deadpanned.

"Calming draught." Lily said. "Lots and lots of calming draught."

In a rare show of affection Minerva hugged her former student tightly. The dam of emotions broke down, and Lily began to weep. "Harry's magic is broken." She grieved. Minerva turned to James, only to see him already in the process of erecting a privacy ward around the group.

"Let it out, child.' Minerva said hugging her tighter.

"When Voldemort attacked." Lily cried, ignoring the slight flinch that Minerva displayed at the name. "He attacked the twins. There was some sort of accidental magic, it blocked his killing curse, but left a scar on Rose's forehead. Harry's core was broken in the shockwave, and the Healers say that he's less than a squib right now."

"Is that why we're here tonight?" Minerva asked.

Lily nodded, wiping away her tears. "He'll never be able to do magic, it's better for him to grow up here unaware of our world. My sister, Petunia, is a muggle and she'll take care of him."

"Surely you jest?" Minerva blurted. "The muggles here are the worst sort! There must be another option!"

At this Dumbledore shook his head. "It needs to be a blood relative, for the protections we're going to erect, to work. Not too many know about young Harry, and Rose is already being hailed as the girl who lived. Without magic Harry will be defenseless against the Dark Lord's supporters, he needs to stay here."

Minerva nodded her head glumly in acceptance of her mentor's words. "Are you going to leave him with anything of our world?"

"No," James said shaking his head sadly. "As they say ignorance is bliss, and even though he has no magic and cannot live in our world I want the best for my son. Let him grow up happy in this mundane life. Let him find a girl and have them grow old together, hopefully their child will be blessed be magic."

"It's a hope that we all share." Albus stated.

James nodded. "He was born with the ability to wield magic, but this accident has left him broken. I will not cut him from our family tree, his magical descendants will always be Potters." He declared.

"Where is Harry anyway?" Minerva asked.

"Sirius is bringing him.' Lily said softly, her sobbing muffled behind a handkerchief that she used to dab at her tears.

"He's late." Dumbledore said, only for the sound of rumbling to be heard overhead. The sound grew louder and louder until a large motorcycle came down fast, and fishtailed to a stop turning 180 degrees until the left side of the motorcycle was inches away from Minerva and Lily.

"Someone mention my name?" Sirius smirked.

"Stop fooling around." Lily snapped. "Are you crazy?! You brought my son on that flying deathtrap of a machine!"

"I enchanted her myself Lily! She's perfectly safe, and I guarantee that she won't fail me." Sirius complained.

"How many tries did it take you to actually get it right?" She pointed out, and when he was silent enlightened the rest of the group. "38 different prototypes before this one came along. My money is on it failing eventually from some fatal flaw that you missed."

Sirius cried crocodile tears, clutching his heart, "oh how you have wounded me fair maiden."

"Be serious!" Lily hissed, her anger taking hold. "And if you dare make a joke out of that I'll have you neutered."

That instantly shut the man/grim up a look of horror on his face.

"Now give me my son." She commanded holding open her arms. Sirius wisely handed Harry over, though he did take one last chance to kiss him on the forehead.

"Careful not to wake him. He passed out just as we were flying over Bristol." Sirius warned.

Everyone crowded around the child, ready to say their final farewells.

"Goodbye Harry." Dumbledore said, running the back of his finger against the boy's cheek, checking one last time to make sure that they weren't mistaken about the boy's condition.

"Goodbye little one." Minerva whispered laying a kiss on his brow. She remembered all the times that she had watched over the young boy. His giggling as she bounced him up and down her knee. How he had clung to her robes whenever he had fallen asleep.

"Grow up strong and proud my son." James said holding his son one final time. "Oh how I dreamed of all the things that we would do as father and son. The pranking and flying. I'll never get to see you chasing after girls, or more likely girls chasing after you." He smiled humorlessly, his eyes damp with unshed tears. "I'm going to miss you Harry."

"Bye prongslet." Sirius said sadly. "I wish I could've been there for all the Godfather/godson moments. Your first beer, the first hangover, the first night you spend in jail, and other great firsts that we'll never have together."

"Goodbye my son." Lily began. "Know that wherever you are that Mommy always loved you. You'll be safe here."

Placing her son on the doorstep she weaved several protective wards around him to protect him from the cold and to make sure that her sister would be the one to find him. Then she placed a letter atop his crib, before stepping back. "I'm ready." She nodded to Dumbledore.

Together they began to weave powerful and complex wards around the property shielding it from portkeys and apparition, as well as intent based wards meant to stop a person from entering if they meant Harry ill. She anchored the wards to a stone pillar that she buried in the backyard and then tied herself into it so that she would be alerted should someone attempt to breach them. With a final gesture a dome the size of the property crashed down onto the yard burying itself into the ground so that a person would not be able to burrow underneath in an attempt to circumvent the wards. She staggered in place threatening to fall over, before she found herself supported by her husband. Turning she saw Minerva supporting Dumbledore who looked slightly winded.

"It's done." She said. "Our baby is as protected as we can make him. No one who wishes him harm can now enter this home."

For several minutes everyone silently watched the child, grieving in their own ways. "What are we to do now?" Minerva finally spoke up breaking the silence.

"I'm going to hunt down Peter and get the bastard." Sirius growled, moving towards his motorcycle.

"Good luck and be safe, brother." James wished. The motorcycle roared to life before Sirius turned it and sped off gaining speed before it lifted off.

"What about you two?" Minerva asked the couple.

"We'll fade from the public for a while we need to grieve in our own way." Lily answered.

"The public is sure to hound you no matter where you go." Minerva pointed out.

James just smiled. "They won't find us, and this time we'll be using something a lot more powerful than a fidelius to hide. We need to be alone, though you can still contact us in case of emergencies."

She nodded, before two cracks resounded signaling her former pupils departure. "And you Albus?"

"We must move forward. The Dark Lord has fallen and we now we need to do as we have always done and pick up the pieces after the war."

Little did they know that the protections erected would not take into account the actions of those who shared blood. A simple mistake would sentence an innocent child to years of abuse and neglect. However if they had known of Petunia's and her husband's disdain for magic as well as the deep seated jealousy that she harbored of Lily, her parents favored child they might have altogether abandoned the idea of placing their son here. An orphanage would've been a much safer place than the Hell he was sent to.

* * *

Harry Potter was not having a good day. In fact nowhere in his memories did he really have a good day. In his mind he seemed destined to go from bad event to worse at the drop of a hat. Right now he was locked in the smallest cupboard under the stairs in the Hellhole that was Privet Drive. It was a Hellhole since his first wakening moment, and did not deserve to be called a home. Sometimes in the haze after his daily beating flashes of a woman with red hair and green eyes would pass through his mind. She was often accompanied by a spectacled man with a mop of black hair that never seemed to sit right, often times strands sticking up in defiance declaring it unable to be tamed. The first and last time he had asked Petunia about them he had received a beating that left him with a broken arm and cracked ribs. The memories of being beaten by Vernon's meaty fists and Petunia's kicks as she screamed about how worthless he was, and how his parents abandoned him on the doorstep because they didn't want him. It was that last comment that had cut him the deepest the first time he had heard it, but it had also instilled within him a desire to know exactly who his parents were. Petunia never spoke of them, he didn't even know if they were alive or not! However every now and then she would curse a woman named Lily, often moving her mouth in a mocking way as she went about the house.

She never raised anything heavier than a cast iron skillet, her favored weapon for the random beatings that he was administered. When they had found about his 'freakiness' in being quick to heal they took it as a challenge, beating every inch of him with different instruments to see how far they could go. He denied them ever seeing tears after the first time it had happened, and one time when he was forced to cook for them he had purposely dropped the heavy and hot cast iron pot on Vernon causing third degree burns on his chest. It was a small revenge on the man that had made his entire life Hell. The beating that he received afterwards couldn't even faze the maniacal smile that he wore. Every time he was forced to cook for them and carried the pot to the table he enjoyed Vernon's flinching and his look of fear. Granted it was a legitimate fear since the burn had left permanent scarring.

Even school offered no respite for him. Here Dudley seemed to make it his personal mission to make sure that he made no friends and that the Hell at home continued. He was isolated and easy pickings for Dudley and his friends, the teachers unwilling to help outside of the classroom. The physical beatings he scoffed at, and he refused to back down to Dudley and his friends. He may have gone down in the end every time but he made sure to carve off his pound of flesh. Even the teachers were against him, often times caning him for being a disruptive influence in their class. He remembered the first time it had happened, he had been nursing a broken arm in the back of the classroom and had asked to go to the nurse. He received 10 lashes when he decided to no longer be ignored and dead simply walked out of the classroom. The nurse had then refused to help him without a note from his teacher allowing for him to even visit. He left her office grumbling about the 'old biddy' in the office and how he hated her.

After physically suffering at the pig's hands he made it his personal mission to be better than his cousin in everything that could possibly leave a record. The pain that he received for being better than Petunia's precious little Duddykins was made bearable by the fact that she had taped Dudley's barely passing work to the fridge door. He laughed at the big red D that was on it. His cousin, not that he would ever call the three of them family, stupidly thought the D stood for Dudley and didn't understand his own pitiful intelligence. Personally Harry thought it more likely stood for Dunce rather than the boy's name. He was sure that if it was possible the boy would've been failed out for his poor academics, it was too bad his current level of education was compulsory and as such the rest of the class had to suffer with him bringing down the collective average. He wondered why if his aunt thought he was such a disappointment and drain on their finances they would send him with his cousin to a private institution that took its education seriously enough that they would make it clear that the student's intelligence was deficient. Hence why they handed out letter grades and tested them often on material learned.

Now, now the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel could be seen. Soon the class would be taking a trip to London to see the sights and nothing Petunia or Vernon could do would prevent him from the trip. If they pulled him the other parents would talk even if their children didn't interact with him, they had to let him go in order to maintain the mirage of normalcy. One more day, until the trip, just one more day he would have to put up with the Dursleys, and then it would be over. Now he was sitting in his little cupboard, his ribs cracked as he bit down on his an old leather belt as he struggled against the pain. Every time he took a breath his chest burned in agony and he was forced to bite down lest he scream in pain. Coupled with his shortness of breath, his blinding headache and fading vision caused no doubt caused by his hypoxia, he was not in a good place. Suddenly feeling nauseous he barely had time to turn his head else he would've vomited on the lumpy bedspread that Petunia had deigned to call a mattress. The smell was overpowering and it was the last straw, he passed out inches from a puddle of his vomitus.

When Harry awoke he had no idea how long he had been unconscious. The room was dark as always, the Dursleys never installed a light for him, and he never had a watch. Pushing against the door he found it locked, the gate in which the only light to his little cubby came through sealed shut. With nothing else to do he took a seat on his bed his legs folded underneath him, hands on his knees. The key to meditation was controlled breathing something that had taken a few sessions to understand. The first time he had experienced meditation in PE he had thought it was silly until he found how it let him recall his memories easily and allowed him to focus his mind. Since then he made sure to spend an hour or two before he went to sleep and when he woke up just clearing his mind, either preparing himself for the day's events or reviewing what happened during the day. Now he was reviewing the previous day's events trying to figure out if this was just another random beating by Vernon or if he had given the whale a reason to do so. A smile blossomed on his face as he remembered what had put Vernon in such a snit. The tub of lard had been coming home from work speeding through traffic on the M when his brakes had failed, resulting in him plowing into a bobby's cruiser. The man had been cussing up a stop as the officer tried to calm him down, and Vernon being the intelligent being he is called the copper Filth, and tried to run. He imagined the bobby laughing as he easily caught up to the whale and put him in cuffs and charged him with resisting arrest and fleeing from the scene of an accident. His running across lanes of traffic ended up causing another accident, a four car pileup that while thankfully had no fatalities resulted in several serious injuries. His future was bleak as he faced a slew of civil suits from those injured in the two accidents he caused.

When he finally returned from being interrogated, he had come in limping, and bowlegged. Harry smiled at the image, it looked like the officers had not been very gentle in their questioning, subjecting the man to a full body cavity search. His bad luck held just a little longer as he attempted to eat dinner. When he heated up his food the power grid decided that it was time to go. The resulting electrical discharge fried anything that was my plugged in, overloading all the safeties and causing thousands of pounds of damage. Vernon eating a cold dinner, in the dark, had not had a good day. He refused to use a candle fearing that it might cause something to spontaneously combust and ignite the whole house in a massive fireball. To put it lightly the man was pissed and in his anger struck out against Harry who as usual was blamed for everything. Harry however had no idea as to how any of these things happened, though he sadistically wished that Vernon's heart would finally give out. You could only experience so many near death and blood pressure raising incidents before a man of his stature keeled over from a variety of diseases. He personally had his money on a stroke or an aneurysm if the purple color the man's face sometimes turned was anything to go by.

Fast forwarding past the events that led to his current imprisonment, he reviewed every pain and throb in his body. Over the night his rapid healing had kicked in and any of the serious injuries that he suffered had mostly been healed. Smaller wounds like cuts, scrapes, burns, and bruises were still visible as his body prioritized healing the serious wounds. He was still sore and sitting as he was quite painful. His own internal clock told him that it was most likely early morning. Petunia or Vernon always woke him up before the sun rose, forcing him to do early morning chores before forcing him to cook breakfast for them.

He was so use to the routine that he had no doubt in his mind that he was always the first one awake in the house. Doubly so for weekends. He didn't even open his eyes when the chains on his door began to rattle, and as numerous locks were clicked open and deadbolts retracted. Burning light flooded the small cupboard, and he knew better than to open his eyes fully instead squinting and allowing himself to get used to the light. Petunia stood at the threshold of his little home, looking considerably worse for wear, cradling a large candle in her hand. _Hmmm, seems like the electric hasn't been restored yet._ He mused. She also didn't have the same fears as Vernon if she was willing to use a candle as light.

"Freak!" She spat, though her voice lacked the typical venom. _Probably from having all of these things happen to her last night._ He mused.

She'd never admit it but his piercing green and cold eyes unnerved her, it was as if they were boring a hole into the very depths of her soul. She stepped out of the doorframe, letting him pass unmolested, something that Vernon and Dudley rarely did. Normally they would slug him in the arm of hit him in the back of his head as he passed them. Sometimes when he passed by the stairs Dudley would try to push him down, only once had he succeeded. She frog marched him to the bathroom, "You have two minutes."

Moving quickly he splashed the icy water on his face, dispelling and remnants of sleepiness he may have had. He wished he had time to take a shower, but knew that even if he were able to it would be nothing but more cold water. 'Freaks don't deserve hot water!' He remembered Petunia screaming before she threw him out of the bathroom the first time he had asked for it. Sighing to himself he finished his morning ministrations and trudged down to the kitchen to begin breakfast. His walrus of an uncle and whale of a cousin came down just as he was finishing the massive portions of Fry-up that would normally be able to feed a large group of people, yet was just enough to feed the two.

After cleaning up the kitchen he took out the trash, and changed into the tawdry uniform that was their school's standards. While Dudley was to be driven to school, and could afford to sit around and watch the telly, he had no such luxury. He ran the distance, timing himself on a ratty watch that he had managed to find in the trash. Arriving at the gate of the school with minutes to spare he headed to the bathroom where he cleaned himself up, wiping off the sweat and getting a drink of water, before heading to class.

In any other school he was sure that the teachers would've been fired for the way that they treated him, and other so called 'disruptive elements', and even though he didn't do anything he was labeled as the rung leader of these individuals. As time passed however he began to accept the label more and more, conforming to the standard that the teachers thought he was. Oh they continually tried to fail him, but a single word from the Headmaster had stopped that, so they switched to a more passive approach, spouting snide comments and trying to trick him with questions. He retaliated bringing together the disruptive students, those who didn't fit with the model of the ideal school student, and began playing pranks on the teachers.

It had started small, purposely moving around the teacher's paperwork when they weren't looking, hiding the chalk, shooting spitballs, things like that, but as the teachers became more vicious so did they. Tacks were placed in the shoes, and on chairs. Sometimes teachers 'tripped' with a helping hand or foot, and in one case one of the more radical students managed to loosen the bolts on the teacher's chair legs resulting in them falling over the first time they had sat down.

The teachers knew that he was the one in charge of the radicals, but were unable to prove anything, and the Headmaster refused to expel or even suspend anyone without solid proof.

Today though the teacher was in for a bit of psychological warfare as he and the rest of the radicals kept smirking/sneering at the poor man causing him to jump at shadows. They had hit the man with everything from tacks to superglue, and the pranks had clearly frazzled the man's nerves. At the end of the day when the final bell had rung Harry walked up to the teacher and grinned. "Have a nice day Mr. Smith. Drive safely; we wouldn't want you to get into any accidents on the way to your home on the corner of Wisteria and Saxon." He took pleasure in the fearful look on the man's face as Harry casually spouted off where he lived. The man scampered off causing Harry to laugh as he walked out into the playground.

"Hey Freak!"

Harry sighed, inwardly cursing himself for allowing himself to be caught alone. Turning around he saw his cousin and several of his friends approaching, all looking at him with their small piggy eyes. "We want to play a game with you, we call it Harry Hunting."

"Go back to the slaughterhouse where you belong Dudley." He said flippantly, preparing himself to run. He was confident in his own speed, there was no way that his overweight cousin would be able to overtake him, and he was sure that without Dudley's lead the others would revert to nothing more than mindless sheep.

"What did you say Freak?" Dudley roared, lunging at him, his sausage like fingers stretched to throttle him. He casually took a step back, kicking the boy's legs from underneath him.

"You heard me piggy." He sneered. Dudley's friends moved to attack him, so he turned and ran taking great pleasure in Dudley's huffing and puffing as he tried to get up from the ground.

 _I wish I wasn't here._ Harry thought to himself, looking at the roof of the building in front of him. It would be the perfect hiding place from Dudley who was deathly afraid of heights, allowing him to plan his counterattack. _Maybe I should slip something into their food tomorrow._ He thought.

His foot caught on the ground, spinning him around. "Bugger." He swore, before feel the world fade around him. The next thing he knew he was on the roof of the building looking down as Dudley, who had finally managed to get up, and his friends were running down the street. _How did I get up here?_

He had no answer to that question, except for the one that his uncle and aunt kept telling him. "THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC!" They would constantly spout, before launching into another tirade about his freakiness and how he was such a drain on their resources.

"Magic." Harry whispered. "That's how I had to have gotten up here."

"I can do magic." He laughed a soft thing at first that quickly crescendoed into a mad cackling. "They lied to me. Magic does exist, and magic is me."

He wiped a hand down his face as he tried to regain his composure. "I can teleport myself, it seems. However the question now is how do I get down from here?" Staring at the ground with all his might he said. "Abracadabra?"

Nothing happened.

"Alakazam? Hocus Pocus? Shazam?" He tried the different words that he had read about and yet nothing happened. "Maybe I don't need a word? I didn't say anything special to get myself up here."

Stomping on the ground, he spun around keeping his focus on the ground. The fading feeling returned, and with a whoosh he appeared back on the ground, where he proceeded to throw up everything he ever ate.

"Damn." He spat, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "Maybe I shouldn't do that again."

He giggled at the thought. "Oh what the hell, I've got magic!" He grinned focusing himself once more, and feeling the world fade around him. He reappeared at the throat of the cul-de-sac that ended with #4 Privet Drive. Thankfully the feeling of nausea quickly faded as he walked back to his prison. _This makes things interesting. I wonder what else they lied about._

* * *

 _Today's the day._ Harry thought giddily, as he made breakfast once more. He followed the same routine as the previous day, but instead of leaving early and having to run to get to school on time he walked slowly, thinking about how his teleporting ability would be a game changer. Vernon had almost had a heart attack last night when he had come down for his nightly beating, only to find his usual target able to escape with ease. He had laughed as the man huffed and puffed trying to come at him with his belt. It finally ended when he faded behind the man and pushed him over resulting in 5 minutes of comedy as he flailed his arms in an attempt to get himself back up. Petunia could only stare in horror the whole time, especially once he faded into the kitchen and picked up the cast iron skillet that she had used to hit him when he was younger. He had enjoyed the resounding 'thunk' the skillet made contact with Dudley's knees.

After his cousin had fallen to the floor he went upstairs and took Dudley's room, making sure to lock the door behind him, ignoring the Horse-faced woman's screams. Sleeping on his cousin's bed had given him the most restful night of sleep he ever had and now he was really debating on whether or not to leave.

On one hand it meant that he had to see Piggy, Walrus, and Horse. On the other it allowed him to have a roof over his head and a bed to sleep in at night. If at any time he didn't like it he could simply leave, and nothing they did would be able to stop him. Not to mention the fact that he would be able to eat for himself now. Today was the perfect example, as he had simply made enough food to feed himself and when Petunia had protested he simply sneered, "Be silent, Mongrel."

Just to spite her and her ideal normalcy he teleported himself into the middle of Privet Drive, where a person would be able to see him magically appear. He had turned back to see her gasping from the window in horror. Shooting her a two finger salute he faded once more appearing on the roof of the school. From there it had been a simple matter to make his way to the departure point that his class was gathering at.

The trip to London was uneventful, however as they disembarked from the buses he began to feel a tugging on his senses. It was a subtle thing at first, a nagging like he had forgotten something, but as the day progressed the feeling grew stronger. By midday it had become a whisper in the back of his mind, calling for him and by the time they were about to leave he could no longer ignore the feeling.

Slipping away from the group had been easy enough, as the rest turned a corner he simply hung back and ducked into an alley. It wasn't like the teacher assigned to monitor them was doing his job, so he should have time to figure out what was calling to him.

 _There's something really off about this._ He thought as he continued to walk towards the voice. A child walking around London all alone should've set off warning bells in just about everyone's head, yet they ignored him like he wasn't there. _Well even more off than what I'm used to. After all I found out I have magic yesterday and now I'm following a voice to God knows where._

It took him several minutes of walking, the voice growing stronger the closer he got, before finally he came to an ancient looking shop nestled in the shadows of an alley. Placing his hands on the door, he jumped back as it opened. "Hello?" He asked taking a tentative step into the shop. "Is there anyone here?"

Approaching the counter he noticed a sheathed dagger to the side. Carefully picking it up he couldn't help but feel the dread that came with holding the weapon. Its hilt was wrapped in brown leather and there was a black gem that served as a pommel. The crossguard had an aggressive upwards curve that came to wicked sharp looking points, and there was some sort of character carved into the middle. Unsheathing the dagger he saw that the blade came to a razor point with the blade being iron and the inner core an endless black. Just as he was about to touch the blade with his free hand, a hand shot out to grab him by the wrist. "Be careful." A voice hissed.

Looking up he saw an ancient looking man with slate grey eyes staring at him. His grip was like iron, unescapable no matter how much he squirmed. "This razor is cursed." Those words caused him to drop the dagger in disbelief.

The man tutted, grabbing the sheath and slipping it back on to the blade. "It's claimed hundreds of lives and a simple nick would've been enough to activate the curse." The man fussed over the weapon for a few moments before he simply placed it to the side and propped up a placard that warned against touching the blade. "Now what can I do for you today."

Harry stayed silent unsure of how to say he had been following a voice and ended up here. "What's the matter boy? Kneazle got your tongue?"

"Kneazle?"

"I believe that muggles call them cats." The man said. "Now if you're not going to shop I'll have to kindly ask you to leave."

"Wait." Harry said. "I followed a voice here." _Bugger why did I say that? Next thing he's going to do is call for a lorry to pick me up and I'll be dragged off to a white padded room._

However against all odds the man turned to look at him. No not look, that was too mild. It was like the man was staring into his soul, searching for something.

A minute later and he seemed to have found what he wanted, as he turned around with a swirl of his cape. "Come alone Mr. Potter I find it best not to keep her waiting."

"Wait how do you know my name?" Harry asked, struggling to keep up with the older man's longer stride.

"I know a great many things, such as the fact that you recently discovered your ability to fade through the barriers that surround the world and reappear where you want. That you were left to your aunt and uncle who abused you since you were a child. You have a sister and parents still alive."

At that he felt something in him snap, and a vase to the side disintegrated to dust. "What did you say?" He asked slowly.

"Your parlor tricks do not intimidate me." The man scoffed waving his hand and reassembling the vase with ease. "Now follow me and keep calm, else I won't hesitate to put you over my knee like the child you're acting."

"I am a child." Harry grumbled.

"Just because you are a child doesn't mean you should act like one. You were called here by something and you need to be mature enough to handle it properly. I remember everything that I've ever sold, some of these items have literally carved their history into the earth, and now it seems like I have to hand one of them to a brat that lacks the ability to understand what exactly he's been gifted with."

"My magic?" Harry asked.

"Pfft." The man mocked. "Your fading isn't real magic. Once upon a time you had the ability to use magic, but when you were but an infant your 'core', the metaphysical organ that allowed you to harness magic was shattered. What you're doing now is utilizing the few shards that survived that violent explosion and mutated themselves to suit your needs. The cantrips that you have now are nothing compared to what true magicians are able to wield, and even those stick waving fools would be able to handle you with ease."

"So if I don't have magic than what am I doing?"

"That I don't know." The man said slowly. "But it seems like fate has something in store for you." He was led to a back room, a single pedestal in the center as rows and rows of items lined the walls. "Now place your hand on the pedestal and allow the call to be heard. You followed it, now it's up to it to come to you and make itself known."

Doing as the man said he heard the call once more, only this time he commanded it. "Come to me." He whispered, feeling something pulse around him.

A green light erupted from the pedestal striking the far wall and quickly expanding along the walls. Row by row it traveled occasionally stopping before continuing on its way. Finally though the light broke off and highlighted two different items, both of which began to float over to him.

"Well that's interesting." The man grumbled. The first item was a book, a large tome with a black metal front and back. It was locked with three different locks and had dozens of runes running along it. The second item was a briefcase that opened itself as soon as it came to rest on the pedestal. Inside was a hilt indistinguishable from any common sword hilt he had seen at any of the museums he had been to. There was no blade, not even a slot for the blade to have been inserted; it was as if it hadn't been designed to accept one.

"What's so interesting about these items?"

"Like I said before Mr. Potter, I remember every item that I've ever sold. These items while once common have fallen into disuse except for certain factions. The book is a grimoire, a repository of spells and teachings normally passed down among family members. Somewhere along your line your ancestors must've penned this tome, as only blood relatives are able to undo the locks. It in conjunction with this hilt tells me more about your future than a peek into a crystal ball. What do you know about the Arthurian Knights?"

"I'm sure any British citizen could tell you a thing or two about King Arthur and his Knights." Harry answered sarcastically.

"Yes, I believe that you're quite correct. The Knights that made up the Round Table were all in some way magical. Back then they used their magic to augment their physical abilities and weapons. These Knight-Enchanters or Mystic Knights as they were called formed the core of the Round Table and were responsible for subduing most of the dangerous magical population that inhabited the British Isles at the time. As time passed the discipline fell into disuse as magicals began to shun physical exercise. The last British Knight-Enchanter was a man named Godric Gryffindor who would later go on to found Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Why aren't there any more Knight-Enchanters?"

"Like I said British wizards began to turn their back on physical combat, however if you leave England the discipline becomes more common. In Italy for example there are several Knight Orders active. This hilt formed the main offensive weapon of the Knight-Enchanter, the spirit blade. Using a ritual an Aspirant would open a gateway into the Fade the domain that lies in between our world and the Boundary of Life and Death. Then they would beseech a spirit to take residence within the hilt. The spirit would serve as a medium to create the blade which because it was an extra-dimensional spirit would allow the blade to bypass any protections the target may have. The blade would literally shift dimensions and reappear within the target causing fatal damage. The only thing capable of stopping a spirit blade was another spirit blade, or to dimensionally lock an area against shifting."

"That's what my fading is, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes it is." The man nodded. "And lucky for you the spells to dimensionally lock an area are incredibly rare; trust me when I say that you don't want to know what happens when a person attempts to shift themselves into or out of the confines of the area."

A clock chimed in the background. Ding! Ding! Ding! "I believe you should be heading back to your bus, Mr. Potter. We wouldn't want to worry your teacher now would we." The man said holding up his hand.

Harry floated up and was slowly being banished back towards the entrance of the shop. "Wait! I have so many questions still to ask! What about my parents? What else can my magic do? You can't just spring this on me then kick me out."

"Study that grimoire Mr. Potter, the knowledge contained within it is priceless. I can tell you one thing before you leave though. If you continue to study it you will one day meet your family and all your questions will be answered. Until then let me off a final piece of advice, from a child of Cassandra to the last remaining descendent of Mordred. When the time comes, and you'll know it when it does, Ignore the pain, charge forth and make sure not to miss."

The door opened and just as he was banished outside he heard. "Goodbye Hadrian James Pendragon, last scion of the House of Pendragon."

* * *

 **Challenge Information**

 **This challenge idea came from DZ2's** **Samurai Sorcerer Challenge, mostly because when I was trying to come up with an idea for it I just couldn't think of a reasonable way for Harry to become a Samurai, cool idea as it was. This takes the idea and puts it in a more western setting.**

 **Plot:** The Potter family is old, noble and extremely wealthy. However, unknown to almost everyone, the Potters are from a long line of Magical Knights. And now it's time for Harry to take up that mantle.

 **RULES!**

Must be Light or Grey Harry.

Harrys Mentor must become his guardian

Harry's sword must be somehow enchanted

Must be at least one other Magical Knight at Hogwarts

False Prophecy

Harry must have a set of enchanted armour he can summon at will

 **FORBIDDEN!**

Harry allying himself with the Order or Death Eaters

Weak Harry

MOD Harry

 **SUGGESTIONS!**

Crossovers

Harry having a Legendary/Holy Sword

Harry being a descendent of one of Arthur's Knights

Harry being a part of the Knights Templar or some other order of Knights (EG Copper Black Cross, Bronze Black Cross from Campione, Brotherhood of Light from Castlevania Lords of Shadow ETC)

Celestial Magic/Words of Power (see Campione for what I mean. Basically it allows the user to tap into Divine powers through prayer)

Harry having multiple Legendary Weapons (EG, Excalibur, Lance of Destiny, Ascalon etc)

Harry being charged with the protection of a Magical Artefact (EG, the Grail, The Hallows, The Entrance to Avalon ETC)

Students of other warrior paths at Hogwarts (EG, a Samurai)

Any Paring welcome

 **And that's it for this challenge. I hope people take this on as I think it has potential to spawn an interesting story.**


	6. Emerald Arrow

Author's Note: So this is my response to DZ2's Emerald Arrow Challenge, and one that I'm really contemplating on expanding. Mostly because I do archery as a hobby and am often at the range after a busy day to shoot and unwind. It will not be a true crossover, but one of the most badass Archer be making his appearance. Also the magic archery system used would once again come from a videogame, Dragon's Dogma, class. Magick Archer.

* * *

The day started out just as every day he could remember had started. The rattling of chains was the first thing that he head. The dull screeching as a heavy and slightly rusted bolt was flipped up then shimmied from its position. By this time what little sleepiness remained was gone, as he sat up on his little bloodstained mattress. When the screeching stopped the door to his prison that he knew as little home was thrown open as a rough hand grasped him by the front of his shirt and yanked him out into the light. The harsh transition from darkness to light burned his eyes, blinding him for several seconds as he blinked the spots away.

From there his meager body was dragged to the bathroom where he was given 5 minutes to finish his morning ablutions. The ice cold shower, as freaks like him were not allowed the comfort of heat, shocked his body into alertness. Exactly 5 minutes passed before the door was roughly opened and he was hauled into the kitchen by his aunt, who threw a list of chores to be completed before everyone else woke up. Basic chores like throwing out the previous night's trash, to polishing the shoes of his fat uncle Vernon and the piglet Dudley. After completing his chores, the sun just began to rise, and he was made to begin breakfast. What might have been something that he could enjoy turned into a tedious and monotonous hassle. Every day, he cooked the same thing, in large enough portions to feed a squad of men. Entire packages of bacon carefully crisped in a cast iron skillet, dozens of cracked eggs fried in the grease of the previous day's bacon, slices of fried toast with butter, countless links of fried sausage, and finally a pot of baked beans, all washed down with copious amounts of tea.

He grimly wondered how long it would take for his Uncle to keel over from a heart attack, and at the rate his cousin was growing he wasn't far behind. While the rest of his 'family' dined on his cooking with nary a compliment, just ordering for him to cook some more, he was relegated to simple toast, water and if he was lucky a small bit of butter or cheese. That was fine for him, he'd gotten used to the meager scraps he was given. He'd prefer the simple but energizing meal to the fried foods with all the grease that would eventually harden his cousin's arteries and cause a heart attack. At least he was no longer forced to live off cheap hardtack made from the cheapest flour his aunt could get her hands on, salt and questionably clean water.

After they finished eating, he immediately got to work cleaning the dishes and the kitchen, moving as quickly as he could since school would soon begin. Donning the rags that were Dudley's castoffs, he couldn't help but sigh at the state of his dress. The only way to describe his state was swimming as there was about a five size difference between him and his cousin. Unlike his cousin who was driven to school by Vernon everyday and thus was unhurried, he had no such luxury as he began the 5 mile trek to school.

He used only one path to get to school, following main roads and leading to high visibility areas where the chances of him running into the seedier elements of the city were greatly diminished. However it seemed like today, Fate had decided to have some fun with him, and decided to see how miserable she could make his day. Jogging out from #4 Privet Drive, he almost immediately got run over by a passing car, his heart pounding he slowed his pace just enough for him to make it to school, but slow enough to calm his heart. His next problem was when he hit the main road only to find it blocked off as a mass casualty incident took place in the form of a 5 car pileup.

Having been diverted by the bobbies to the winding side streets he couldn't help feel a shiver run down his spine. Cautiously taking a step into this new path, a small bit of fear clenching at his guts, he was no longer worried about getting to school on time but just getting to school was his new priority. Slow and steady wins the race, that was his new motto, as he seemingly jumped at every new sound.

It wasn't like it was a seedy part of the city, he was mostly walking in a residential area, but it was the fear of the unknown that was getting to him. The primal fear, the silence and lack of people, so different than what was supposed to be. He was brought out of his musings (read: fear) by a dull sounding Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. An unknown sound repeated for a total of six times before it stopped for a several seconds, then it repeated. Listening to the constant rhythm he found his heart calming a bit, as he moved closer to the sound.

Peering through the wrought iron bars that made the fence he saw the sound coming from a simple yet large house, and one thing that he immediately noticed was the size of the yard. To him it was the most green he had ever seen for one house. His eyes flashed as he caught sight of what was making the sound bury itself into a target. An arrow. He watched in awe as arrow after arrow was sent hurtling into the bullseye. The grouping was so tight that some of the arrows shaved parts of other arrows off, and one even hit dead center on the knock and partly split it. Turning to the other side of the makeshift range he saw the archer, his bow still extended held gently in his left hand while his right was in the air after his follow through.

"Woah." He couldn't help himself.

Unfortunately it also drew attention to him, and in the blink of an eye there was an arrow streaking towards him. Yelping and falling on his butt as the arrow glanced off the fence and ricocheted to land inches away from him.

"Who's there?" A hard voice asked. He tried to scramble back, but failed as the archer seemed to appear in front of him with a small pop. A hand darted out and seized him by the shirt, hauling him to his feet. "How did you get here?"

Looking up Harry saw the archer's white hair, tanned skin and steel grey eyes boring into his. He was dressed in a black and silver body suit that showed off rippling muscles. Seeing his hesitation, the man released his shirt and backed off a few inches. "You mute kid? Or are you going to answer me?

He shook his head as he stepped back from the man. The distance between them was still small enough that he could cross it in a single bound.

"Look kid, I'm sorry about almost shooting you with an arrow, but you surprised me." The man sighed. "Mundanes shouldn't be able to enter here, so that begs the question, why are you here?"

"There was an accident on the way to school." Harry spoke up hesitantly. "I had to take a detour."

"Then my shooting drew you in huh?" Harry nodded hesitantly, never taking his eyes off the black metal bow than man held. He followed Harry's eyes, hefting the bow so that the boy would be able to get a better look. "It's rather simple, something that a person can make themselves. At least the wooden version, this is a metal self-bow and requires more specialized knowledge to build."

"Why's it black?"

"Because black is better, and black oxide helps protect the metal." The man replied nonchalantly. "Do you want to try?"

He nodded, unable to pull his gaze from the weapon. To him it was magnificent, even if the man called it simple. "Here, hold this for now, I'm sure I've got a beginner's bow somewhere around here."

The man handed Harry the black metal bow. He couldn't help but compare the bow to the boy's own height. The boy was probably only 4'5" and his bow was almost a good foot and a half taller than him.

Harry watched the man's retreating form, clutching the bow in his hands. For some reason he could feel a connection to the weapon, and as he ran his hands along the warm metal body he couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through him.

The man returned carrying another black bow, this one a recurve, its ebony limbs and riser glistening with wax. "Magnificent isn't it." The man asked handing Harry the ebony bow and taking the metal one back. "Have you ever shot before?"

Harry shook his head. "I've seen the older students practice with them but the teacher said that we're too young."

"Nonsense. Back in the old days there would boys your age whose lives depended on being able to use the bow." The man said. "Here let me show you."

The man brought him over to a white line about 5 yards away from the target. "Straddle the white line. Your body should be perpendicular to the target. Personally I prefer a more open stance compared to a more traditional stance. The difference between the two is your lead foot and where it points. If it points to your target that means it's an open stance, and if it's perpendicular then it's a square stance. Now nock the arrow onto the bow string, make sure the nock is underneath the brass marker. Good now to draw the bow back place one finger above the arrow and the rest underneath. Then in one smooth motion draw the string back and anchor it at the corner of your mouth. To release slowly open your hand and allow the arrow to fly."

Harry did as to man said, but just as he was about to release the man said. "Hold, calm your breathing, visualize the target. Focus until there's nothing but the target. Believe in yourself, no matter what happens the arrow will hit. Cause and effect are reversed as soon as you let go of the string. It is not a matter of the arrow being released and the target is pierced but the target is pierced therefore the arrow must've been released."

"Now, release." At that command, Harry let the string slip through his fingers, and the arrow disappeared in a blue streak slamming dead center into the target.

"Good." The man said. "Shouldn't you be heading to school already? Won't your teachers miss you?"

Harry shook his head. "They won't. To them I'm just another Freak, a troublemaker."

The man winced, saddened that someone could treat a child like that. He took a closer look at the boy, noting the large clothes, the somewhat dirty face, and how skinny the boy was. _Neglect, possibly abuse._ He thought grimly. Maybe the boy would open up to him if he relaxed and shot some more. _If it is what I fear, I'll pass the information to some of my colleagues._

"What's your name boy?"

"Harry Potter, sir."

"From now on Harry come where after class. I'll teach you how to shoot and how to discipline yourself."

"Why?"

"Because it'll be good for you. The mental discipline by itself acts to calm you, and I'll be applying Eastern practices into the shooting regimen."

"What's your name? I'm sorry I forgot to ask before."

"You can call me Archer, Harry. Now why don't we have you put some more steel down range."

* * *

Challenge Information

 **Plot:** When Harry witnesses the art of archery in a book/film/trip etc. he decides to explore this new form of combat: guess what? He's actually pretty damn good.

 **Rules:** Light, Grey or Dark Harry

As the plot states, Harry must either read about or see archery in action in a film, book, comic, out in the schools etc.

Harry's bow and arrows must be somehow magical e.g. the bowstring doesn't break, he never runs out of arrows etc.

When Harry goes to Hogwarts (even if it's before or after first year), his bow and arrows go with him

Harry somehow discovers Archer's Magic _what this may be is up to you_

Sirius becomes free

 **Guidelines:** Harry discovers the art before Hogwarts

Harry adapts his archery for other 'ranged/projectile' weapons e.g. shurikens, throwing stars etc.

Crossovers

For some weird, but funny reason, Harry NEVER misses his target

Harry doesn't fight Voldemort or Dumbledore, but prefers to be a silent observer - like an archer, silent and ready

All pairings are welcome

If/When Harry draws Gryffindor's Sword, it somehow fuses its magic with his bows/arrows

 **Forbidden:** Harry relying solely on magic

Even if he's Light or Dark, Harry doesn't side with either Dumbles or Tom

Golden Trio: Harry's skill with the non-magical weapon makes them jealous/frightened/angry at how he shows them up


	7. A Summoning Gone Wrong I

AN: One-shot following the common cliché/trope of Harry Potter being summoned to another universe, in which the original died, in order to kill Voldemort. Inspired by Yet Another Universe by SilverFawkes and On a Pale Horse by Hyliian.

Albus looked around him at the members of the remaining members of the Order, their faces ranging from grim and somber to nervously twitching as their eyes darted to and fro. What they were talking about was a desperate gamble, a despicable act that would hopefully end the threat that they were currently facing. The second war was going badly, every day more and more rallied under the Dark Mark. Wizards and witches, giants, vampires, and weres, mercenaries pouring in from all around the globe, lured by the gold that the Dark was offering. The Ministry with 'help' from the Order was barely able to hold back the tide of Darkness, their numbers dwindling with each confrontation. If they didn't roll the dice and take a chance with the Hero Summoning spell, he didn't know how long they could endure. The Unspeakables had originally found this Ancient Egyptian Spell that was used to call forth spirits of sealed monsters to do battle, and with a little bit of work Dumbledore had been able to modify it to suit their needs. This would be the first time it was actually used, that was if the idea passed a vote.

The one to be summoned had already won their war, so he had no qualms about summoning them, knowing that it would most likely be an adult rather than a child. He had originally planned to have a hero to win this war with one that would die to save the world and he would get the credit because he would be the boy's mentor. That plan had gone down the toilet though when the boy's stupid muggle aunt and uncle had starved him and his owl to death, before the boy's second year. How was he to know that the line in the prophecy about dying at the hand of the other could be canceled out by abuse from the boy's family?

That was the same year that the Chamber of Secrets was opened and a young and charismatic Voldemort managed to resurrect himself using the soul energy of Ginny Weasley. Dozens of students were petrified and several killed when the Heir of Slytherin unleashed the Basilisk in one final attack while he fled the castle. It was only the quick thinking of Professor McGonagall in transfiguring a rooster that managed to save everyone, when the mighty serpent was attempting to break down the doors to the Great Hall. He had failed to kill the 16 year old Dark Lord, and since then all of his plans had to be remade. Thankfully the '93-'94 year had been relatively quiet when compared to the previous year. There was only one incident and that was the mass breakout of Azkaban that led to the complete release of all of Voldemort's followers. The Ministry had refused to listen to his warnings, and he had been forced to reactivate the Order to prepare for the coming darkness.

Last year Alastor had been kidnapped and had his blood forcibly taken and used it a dark ritual to bring Voldemort back before Moody could make his escape. Now it wasn't just one Dark Lord that they had to worry about but two! A charismatic and cunning young man who drew followers to him with ease and an intellectual older form with decades of knowledge and experience delving into the darkest magics. His one hope for the two to split and cause in fighting, giving them a chance to regroup, failed when the two exchanged Unbreakable Vows and joined together to annihilate the Light in pitched battle after pitched battle.

This spell was designed to reach into an alternate universe to get a hero capable of killing Voldemort. But the Order wasn't in agreement that they should use it, but they didn't have long to decide. If they were to do this they had to do it on winter solstice or it would be several more months before they could try again on the summer solstice.

The debate wound down. "All right let's vote." Albus said. "Arthur?"

"Yes I've already lost my daughter to the bastard I've no desire to lose my sons."

"Molly?"

"Yes."

"Tonks?"

"Yes."

"Hestia?"

"Yes with reservations."

"Bill?"

"No."

"Remus?'

Yes like Hestia with reservations."

"Alastor?"

"No, what if what we get is worse than what we're fighting?"

"Amelia?"

"I'm with Alastor, NO."

"Calliope?"

"Yes."

"Xeno?"

"Yes."

"Kingsley?"

"No."

"Zacharias?"

"Yes."

"Daedalus?"

"Yes."

"Minerva?"

"Yes."

"Filius?"

"No."

"Severus?"

"Reluctantly yes."

"Poppy?"

"If it brings an end to the suffering sooner I say yes."

"Fleur?"

"No."

"I also vote yes. Motion carries, I will prepare the ritual for next week's solstice."

* * *

The following week on the winter solstice the order again met at the Stonehenge a monument to several intersecting leylines, they would need all the power that they could get if the summoning was to be successful. Albus had carefully created the diagram and its runes in salt, on the floor he carefully placed the candles made from a potion infused wax into holders, and lastly to use as a catalyst choose several of their Harry's most prized possessions. The memories and sentiments of these items would hopefully make it easier to summon, Harry Potter and not some random person.

Most of the Order would be on the outskirts walking the perimeter, they had to keep the area as clean as possible from outside magical interference. It would be Albus, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Madame Pomphrey, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, and lastly Remus Lupin, who would be performing the spell. Each of them had some form of relationship with Harry, and would represent each represent a point on the star enclosed within the circle.

"Are we ready to begin?" Albus asked. The others around him nodding solemnly, as they cut their palms and let the blood drip onto their point. As one they chanted.

 _LET SILVER AND MAGIC BE THE ESSENCE_

 _LET STEEL MADE FLESH BE THE BODY_

 _CRIMSON BE THE COLOR WE PAY TRIBUTE TO_

 _LET RISE A WALL AGAINST THE DARK NEVER TO FALL_

 _LET THE FOUR CARDINAL GATES CLOSE_

 _LET THE THREE-FORKED ROAD FROM THE CROWN REACHING UNTO THE KINGDOM RORATE_

 _LET IT BE FILLED. AGAIN. . AGAIN._

 _LET IT BE FILLED FIVEFOLD FOR EVERY TURN, SIMPLY BREAKING ASUNDER WITH EVERY FILLING_

 _AN OATH SHALL BE SWORN HERE! WE SHALL ATTAIN ALL VIRTUES OF ALL HEAVEN. WE SHALL HAVE DOMINION OVER ALL EVILS OF HELL_

 _FROM PARALLEL TIME, FROM PARALLEL SPACE, ATTENDED TO BY THREE GREAT WORDS OF POWER, COME FORTH FROM THINE HOME, SAVE US, HERO OF THE WORLD_

At the apex of their chant a bright light formed above them descending rapidly until it gently touched down upon the grass. Three figures appeared on a massive bed, their clothes asunder, as two of the figures snuggled up to the one in the middle.

"Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore called hesitantly. The next thing he knew he and the rest of the Order were flying through the air, as a wave of concussive magic hurled them back.

The attack drew the rest of the members of the Order from their positions, Dumbledore just managed to get back on his feet when he saw the three figures move off the bed, and begin walking towards him. The two to either side were easily recognizable even if they did look older. The first was Fleur, an immaculate white dress hugging her every curve emphasizing her already extraordinary beauty, her head held high and proud. The second surprised them the most, pale blonde hair reaching down to her waist, slate grey eyes firm with conviction daring any to defy her. She wore a black dress and a silver diadem with a sapphire set in the middle. What was most surprising was the fact that the figure was reminiscent of a female Draco Malfoy. The third, and one in the middle, was the one that they wanted though. The Harry Potter they had known had been a scrawny and small boy who flinched every time raised their hand in his presence, and had little to no self-confidence, the man in front of them was the exact opposite. Taller than both his female companions by a head, he was muscled and exuded a magical aura that bordered on oppressive. His black hair reached just above his shoulders. He wore a black shirt and pants, with a cape that looked like spun gold. "Well, well." He said striding towards them, holding out his hand. Raw magic coalesced in his palm before shooting forward to force them onto their knees. "If it isn't Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore. The last time we saw each other was right before I had you drawn and quartered in Diagon Alley."

"Harry?" Dumbledore whispered hoarsely, his breath catching as magic wrapped around his throat.

"That's Emperor Hadrian to you worm." The Fleur lookalike sneered, her hand extended in a choking motion.

"Now, now dearest. It's been ages since we last saw the esteemed Leader of the Light." Hadrian said placing his hand on her arm and lowering it.

Dumbledore took a huge gulp of air as the oppressive pressure left his neck. "We wouldn't want to kill

Him. "Harry."

The man sighed. "It seems that you really can't teach an old dog new tricks."

"You are Harry Potter aren't you?" Dumbledore pleaded.

"You haven't gone by that name in a long time." The female Malfoy purred, wrapping herself around him. "Normally the people call you Tyrannus, or something less flattering.

"Let the sheep say what they want, they are too weak to do anything about it." The man stated.

Dread began to take hold of Dumbledore's heart. This wasn't going anywhere neared how he planned. For the first time in a long time he began to doubt his ability and infallibility. The Harry Potter that they wanted to summon was someone who defeated Voldemort and would lead the Light to a new Golden Age, the one that they got was definitely different.

The man gestured, and Dumbledore felt himself rising, and with another gesture he was brought closer. "Once upon a time I was Harry Potter, but that was a long time ago, now I am Emperor Hadrian Tyrannus."

"Harry." Dumbledore began, only to choke once more.

"Did you not just hear me say my name?" Hadrian said, raising a brow as he shook the older man like a ragdoll.

"Maybe we should see what the old crackpot wanted with you." Fleur said.

"Allow me." The female Malfoy said, waving her hand and summoning Severus Snape from where he was on the ground. "Severus Snape. I'm going to take great pleasure in this."

"Do your worst." The man sneered confidant in his mental barriers.

"Draconica, do not be gentle." Hadrian said.

"I had no intention of being so." The now identified Draconica smirked, placing a single finger against the greasy man's forehead.

The dour potion master was silent for several seconds, his face going from confidant to determined and finally to horror. Twenty seconds into it he began sweating bullets as he tried to keep out the invader. A minute after she began contact Dumbledore's spy opened his mouth and let loose an inhuman scream as his barriers failed before the powerful assault. His body began to convulse and shake, seizing but never moving from the spot.

Two minutes after the initial assault began, the man collapsed to the ground, foaming at the mouth, his eyes cloudy and vacant. "It was a summoning ritual."

"I guessed that dear." Harry said. "I doubted that we died and the person to guide us over would be Dumbledore."

"The old fool, got his scapegoat killed, and now there world is under assault from Voldemort."

"You mean Magical Britain is under assault." Fleur said. "So what did he do? Summon a hero to win the war?"

"Essentially yes." Draconica said, turning her back to examine the remains of the spell. "There's still a connection to our world."

"How long to reverse it?" Hadrian asked, ignoring the horrified look on Dumbledore's face.

"With access to the original texts, I could probably do it within days. Without it I'd need to analyze the residue and try to reverse engineer the ritual. If it's one that I've come across in my research I could have it done shortly, but if it's one that I've never seen it might take months." Draconica said.

"Can you stabilize it?"

"Easily." Stepping back Draconica's eyes glowed with power. Moving her arms like a conductor a stone archway began to form in front of her, runes blazing to life as the portal began to stabilize. "There. Now the portal is locked onto our home."

"Is the portal still open on our side?"

"Most likely. We had a meeting in a few hours, when we don't show up a team will be dispatched to find us and they should discover the portal. With the resources Hermione has they'll soon discover the function of the portal and be able to set up a stable doorway."

"You can't just leave!" Dumbledore yelled, flaring his power to break the bindings on him. "You need to defeat Voldemort."

"Not my problem." Hadrian said simply.

"Are you so heartless, to leave the people to suffer under him." Dumbledore pleaded.

"Yes." Hadrian replied.

His answer caused the elderly wizard to rear back in surprise, and look in disappointment at the man that they had summoned. "I'm disappointed in you, dear boy." The man said sadly, his eyes twinkling.

"Shove it up your ass." Hadrian said, turning his back on his former Headmaster.

"Language." Fleur said slapping him on the arm. "You are the Supreme Emperor, not a crass lout. You need to set an example for the common people to emulate."

"So do everything that Ronald Weasley would do."

"Yes." Draconica said placing a hand in the crook of her arm.

"Why you ever kept him around I don't know." Fleur said haughtily.

"His ineptitude amuses me." Hadrian explained. "Now my dears, shall we explore this new world?"

"New people to conquer." Draconica said, a bloodthirsty smile on her face.

"A virgin world waiting to be exploited." Fleur said with a similar smile.

"A new world to bring Order to." Hadrian grinned, an emerald green aura whipping around him.

In a flash of emerald fire they disappeared from view, leaving Dumbledore and the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix to recover their wits.

* * *

"What have I done?" Dumbledore whispered, for the first time in a long time feeling his 150 years.

"Headmaster?" Remus Lupin asked limping over to the elderly man. "What should we do?"

"The only thing we can do." Dumbledore said softly. "Gather the rest of the order, and go to Grimmauld Place, I'll meet you there."

"What about Snape?"

Dumbledore went to the still figure of his spy and began casting diagnostic charms. "He's alive but that woman, Draconica, locked him within his own mind." Taking a ribbon out of his pocket the quickly turned it into a portkey to St. Mungo's and placed it on the man. "We can't do anything to help him."

Remus nodded, limping away to gather the rest of the Order.

"Albus?" Molly Weasley asked hesitantly, staring at the stone arch.

"Go, my dear." Albus said, drawing his wand, his eyes never leaving the arch. When the rest of the Order head apparated away he spoke. "If there only hope of leaving this world is destroyed, they should be much more cooperative."

Taking aim at the archway he unleashed the strongest blasting curse he could. His already immense power amplified by the Elder wand unleashed a bolt of red light that struck the archway at its centermost point. He smiled, thinking that the portal would collapse with the destruction of the stabilizer. However when there was no explosion or shrapnel from destroyed stone, he stopped. The archway was unblemished, his strongest blasting spell didn't even chip the stone. Annoyed he readied himself once more, this time readying a siege engine class spell. Magic powerful enough to bring down castle walls struck the archway to no avail.

Panting in exhaustion he had no choice but to retreat for the night, but not before using his remaining powers to ward the area. He'd be alerted if anyone came to investigate or if another person appeared from the portal. With a crack he apparated to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

When Albus arrived at the Order's Headquarters he was immediately besieged by questions. Although he wanted nothing more than to go to bed, as the ritual and casting the siege engine class spell had drained him, he held up his hand for silence.

"Please one at a time." He said slumping into his chair.

"I told you!" Amelia immediately began, her face almost bestial in anger. The six who had protested the ritual, Amelia, Kingsley, Filius, Fleur, Alastor, and Bill were sitting separate from the rest of the group. "I told you that the ritual was a bad idea! That we had no idea what we were summoning."

"Peace. Please." Dumbledore said, trying to prevent the rant that the Minister was about to begin. "The ritual was set to summon a hero, someone who had already defeated Voldemort."

"That was no Hero." Alastor said. "If anything you just summoned a Dark Lord."

"Merlin no." Amelia said, a house elf bringing her a glass of firewhiskey. "'Of course Dumbledore could never be wrong.' Molly said. 'He's the Leader of the Light' you said. Well let me tell you! DUMBLEDORE IS AS HUMAN AND FALLIBLE AS ANY OF US! And he just fucked up royally."

"Amelia." Dumbledore chided.

The Minister held up her hand, silencing anything the old man was about to say. "No. Just no. We're already stretched thin enough as it is combating two Dark Lords, a third one will be the straw that breaks the camel's back."

"Your fears are unfounded." Dumbledore placated. "I'm sure that Mr. Potter was simply disoriented from the summoning. He just needs to be shown the Light once more. Maybe if we introduce him to Ms. Weasley…."

Amelia and those who had protested the ritual looked at him in disbelief. "You want to introduce him to Ginevra Weasley?" She asked slowly for confirmation.

"Yes." Dumbledore said eyes twinkling as a plan began to form. "I'm sure that it's the influence of those two women that swayed him from the Light."

"Excuse me!" Fleur cut in, eyes blazing with fury. "One of those women so happens to be my counterpart, Dumbledore. I do not like what you're insinuating!"

"Besides." Bill said. "No offense to Ginny, but she has nothing on those two. He'd probably take a look at her then laugh." He ducked under a red light fired from his sister's wand. "Sorry Ginny. Not to mention the fact that I do not like my sister going anywhere near a wizard that powerful alone in an attempt to seduce him."

"I'm with Bill." Arthur spoke up. "I don't want Ginny anywhere near that wizard."

"But it's my Destiny to marry Harry Potter." The brainwashed girl cried.

"Well that might've happened if our Harry didn't kick the bucket." Zacharias said. "But I'm with Bill on this one, Ginevra is doomed to fail before she even begins."

Clearing her throat Molly, interjected, intent on defending her daughter. "My daughter is sweet, kind, selfless and beautiful. Why she's like a carbon copy of Lily Evans. Any man would be honored to have her. Also the Potters have always had a thing for redheads."

"Really?" Fleur asked, raising a brow. "Because from what I've seen she's petty, prone to jealousy and according to rumors has been used more than the Hogwarts Brooms. Comparing her to a beauty like Lily Evans is frankly insulting, as Ginny is short, gangly is a mess of freckles and if turned sideways in indistinguishable from the average male."

"Enough!" Amelia commanded, slamming her palm onto the table they were gathered around. "Those of us from the Ministry protested this ritual from the very beginning. Even the Unspeakables told you that the risk was too great after their first attempt to use the original spell resulted in the death of over 30 researchers. You ignored us and the dangers inherent in that spell, and now you've brought ruin down on our heads. This is your mess to clean up, Dumbledore; I've got a war to fight."

She stood up, taking another shot of firewhiskey before she headed towards the Floo. "Oh and there will no longer be any use of stunners and binding spells. Under the provisions granted to me as our country is currently in a state of civil war I'm authorizing all Aurors, Hitwizards, Allied Mercenaries, and militia forces to use the Unforgivable Curses."

"Ame-" Dumbledore began only to be cut off.

"Furthermore, all suspected Death Eaters will be immediately interrogated under veritaserum before being thrown through the veil." She said determinedly. "This is war Albus, they can have their second chances in Hell."

"The Wizengamot will never stand for this." Dumbledore said angrily, her stance threatening to ruin everything that he had ever advocated.

"They have no choice. Since they themselves declared that we are in a state or war, they have empowered me as Supreme Military Leader, and as such I'm declaring Martial Law and disbanding the Wizengamot until such a time as I believe that a stable parliamentary body can be reformed."

"I never thought you'd be one to seize power." Dumbledore said sorrowfully, his voice laced with disappointment.

"As the Harry Potter you summoned so eloquently put it, 'shove it up your ass'. I'd rather destroy our society in the hope that it can one day rebuilt than give it to the Death Eaters and Voldemort. That Harry Potter you summoned is your responsibility. Anything he does I'm holding you personally responsible for. Any blood he might shed is on your hands." She finished, looking each of the other members gathered in the eye. As she departed via the Floo others moved to join her, splintering the group further.

Tonks, Hestia, Kingsley, Moody, and the others who worked at the Ministry left.

"We've made the situation worse. Haven't we?" Poppy asked.

"Have no fear, my dear. Even in the darkest of times happiness can be found if one simply remembers to turn on the light."

"From where I'm sitting things are dire, and happiness is not exactly forthcoming, not with the death toll that we're suffering under." Remus said tiredly.

"For now our priority must be locating the Harry Potter that was summoned. There is still enough residue of his magical signature to fashion a crude tracker." Albus said pulling out a crystal on a gold chain. "We need a map of England."

"There's one in the study. I'll go get it." Sirius said standing up and running to get it. He returned a minute later, and unrolled the parchment on the table.

"Vide meum, Harry Potter." Dumbledore incanted, holding the crystal several inches above the map and allowing it to freely swing. The crystal was still, to the shock of everyone present. "I fear magic has determined that Harry Potter no longer exists in this world." Dumbledore said, feeling all hopes and plans begin to crumble. If there was no Harry Potter did that mean the prophecy was no longer in play and that Voldemort was now immortal?

"Try Emperor Hadrian Tyrannus." Arthur spoke up. "That's what the women he was with called him."

Nodding Dumbledore repeated the spell, with the different name. "Strange."

The crystal was constantly moving, instead of giving a definite location it circled a wide area that encompassed all of Britain. "He's somewhere in Britain."

"Go figure." Sirius snorted. "I've never seen a dowsing crystal act like that before."

"Nor have I." Dumbledore said gravely.

* * *

"It has been a trying night, best we retire. We'll reconvene in a few days, and until then I strongly suggest that you keep your eyes open and your ears to the ground. If you hear anything suspicious that might relate to our missing Potter report it to me immediately." With that said Dumbledore left, intent on sleeping for several hours to recoup his strength.

"Did you notice what, the person who we summoned said earlier tonight?" Mooney asked, when it was just him and Padfoot left.

Sirius shook his head. "I was too far away, and the waves of magic prevented us from getting closer.

"He called himself Emperor, which means that he ruled over more than a single country. Not to mention the fact that he was surprised to see Dumbledore. I believe his words were somewhat along the lines of, 'I thought I had you executed.'"

Sirius paled at that, wondering if their Headmaster really knew what he was doing anymore. "And he wants to try and manipulate this person?"

Seeing Remus nod, he poured himself another finger of scotch. "We're all going to die, and it's all thanks to that old goat-fucker."


	8. Harry Potter x DxD MOD Harry Prologue

Author's Note: Plot bunnies for Highschool DxD and HP crossover. 2 different approaches, the first being a MOD!Harry who dies and is then sent into the DxD world. The harem would mostly be mature women so: Gabriel, Raynare, Kalawarner Yasaka etc. The other approach is inspired by Lupine Horror in which Harry summons Mepisto Pheles as a child and is taken away by him to be raised as a Magician. That harem would have a fem!Vali as the main girl and Harry joining her group. His magic would pretty much be high powered bombardment spells. This is the MOD!Harry opening sequence.

* * *

Silence filled the void.

An endless silence that had stretched an eternity.

The lone figure sat on a comfortable throne, screens showing everything in existence hovered in front of her. Her elbow rested against the armrest, cradling her chin, and to anyone that saw her at that moment would see her boredom. Though none would ever be able to contemplate it.

For an eternity she had sat on that throne, watching over creation, observing the fleeting lives of humanity which served as her only source of entertainment. She'd never admit it but she was lonely. In this place where day and night had no meaning, where time itself was unknown, and known only through her observations, she dwelt watching as everything toiled through an endless cycle of birth and death. She never understood why they existed only that they did, trying to make the best of their fleeting lives. They knew that there lives were short and tried to make the best of it, trying to fulfill some sort of purpose.

It was a feeling that she knew not. She was omnipotent, omnipresent, and eternal, to her who knew no beginning nor end she was not able to relate.

Then it all Changed.

She would never forget that moment, a male human, young and barely into adulthood had taken hold of three of her trinkets that she had created to amuse herself, and in so doing unknowingly created a bond between them. From then all her attention was focused on him. For centuries she had watched him, carefully observing and judging the man who was her partner, yet did not know about her true being, only that which was old in story and seen by all. Soon that would change.

The forces that dictated fate were drawing closer, weaving the final days of his life, preparing the snip the thread that held him to his mortal coil.

The Earth would claim the body of the Hero, but she would claim his soul.

All of creation must pass through her realm to await judgment, never before had an exception been made.

But he was hers.

When the time came and his last breath left his frail form, she would sever the tie between the immortal and mortal so that he may make the last journey. She would not claim him as she claimed all others.

From her robe she removed a long glass vial, lovingly stroking the intertwined strings held within, one born of the void, the other other golden and immortal. The moment that he had united her objects a new thread had been created, this was the only truth that mattered to her now. Now for the first time in millennia she felt anxious, counting down the days before he would join her.

Soon the silence would end, as the greatest of the primordial forces joined and lay with her immortal master.

Eternal silence would break, and all creation would tremble, for none not even The Gods would ever escape her grasp.

* * *

It had been a long day at the office.

The hours had droned by as he was cooped up in meeting after meeting each room filled with politicians more pig-headed and stubborn than the last. Each and every one of them corrupt and degenerate, clamoring for his favor, under the preconceived notions that there ideas were more important than their peers. He vehemently cursed the lot of them as he poured himself two fingers of the ancient scotch Professor McGonagall had given to him on her death bed. At first he had no idea how the old battleaxe enjoyed the powerful liquor that burned its way down his throat, but after a decade or two of learning he had come to appreciate the drink over the fire inducing magical whiskey. He'd go so far as to say that he was a connoisseur of the smoky sweet drink, however he'd fervently deny that he was an alcoholic even if he did own a majority stake in most of the high end distributors.

Falling into his favorite recliner by the fireplace he wordlessly and wandlessly flicked his hand igniting a fire in the ancient hearth. He cursed his younger and more naive self, all his current frustrations stemmed from decisions he had made when he was a new-blood politician just entering the death trap that was the Wizengamot. Back then the war against Voldemort had still been fresh in everybody's mind, and the bill that he had introduced at the urging of Hermione, passed unanimously, instantly repealing the ancient laws that allowed duels to the death to settle matters. Now that he thought about it Hermione was the source of all his troubles. She had forced him to put forth that bill to appease all of the noble families who were still in an uproar over how he handled the entirety of the Second Blood War. He snorted in amusement remembering the clamor that they had made over the fact that he had annihilated entire family lines, pruning them from the proverbial tree. To him those families weren't branches but weeds choking their society, preventing it from reaching its true potential. He had done the entire British community a favor by vaporizing the lot of them. All he wanted was to be allowed to go back to his experiments and research after the war but noooooo...Hermione had pretty much chained him up and laid down the law as she locked his research room up, and threw away the key until such a time as the mess he created was cleaned up. He should've taken the offer from those American Unspeakables all those years ago. Massive funding, free reign to pursue anything he wanted, and a team of intelligent henches with ambiguous and loose morals willing to dive into the darkest of secrets in pursuit of a goal. Most importantly they would not nag him when he disappeared into his lair for a week at a time, or fell asleep at his desk, or unleashed an eldritch monstrosity upon Wizarding Britain. If anything they'd probably give him a medal or at least quietly increase his budget.

Even now centuries after he had killed that snake-faced bastard, the original blood purist descendants continued to be a thorn in his side. The thought of retiring to the beaches of France or retreating into his secret lair in Belgium where he could surround himself with veela once more passed through his mind, though he had to grimace at the stern lecture that awaited him should he try to flee the country on anything but official business. If it wasn't for Hermione he'd had retired from government and public altogether years ago, or more likely he'd have destroyed them all while testing one of his new inventions (completely accidental) he'd swear.

Honestly if he'd known that dragging Wizarding Britain into the modern era was going to take close to four and a half centuries he'd have negotiated some vacation time from Hermione. Now though it was done and he'd finally be able to kick back relax, and get back on track with the latest of his inventions.

The Treaty of Equality had passed through the Wizengamot in no small part to Slytherin cunning and ruthlessness. Purchasing up all the outstanding debts of the Dark Families had almost cut his fortunes in half, but it was well worth the effort. As he sipped his scotch, he wondered why he had never thought of the plan before. With his enemies financial stability to do with as he wished, he had threatened to call in all of their markers and bankrupt the lot of them if they refused to yield to his demands. To remain eligible as a sitting member of the Wizengamot required a certain amount of capital i.e. bribe money, and his actions would have not only put all the opposition in the red, kicked them off their familial seats, it would've probably broken the community's economical back. The threat had been clear, and he had taken flak from both sides as well as that rag he sometimes used to wipe his arse (The Daily Prophet), yet everything he had done had been perfectly legal, and the goblins hadn't charged him through the nose in fees figuring this was a chance to screw over the factions that thought of them as sub-human and no better than creatures. All in all it was a win-win for everyone that mattered.

Reclining in the handcrafted chair he had made for himself decades ago, he turned to the massive portrait that hung above the mantle. "To you, Hermione. The greatest sister that a guy could ask for." He said raising his glass in salute. The portrait was still, after all it wasn't a wizarding one, those still gave him the creeps whenever he came across one of them. "426 years sis, but it's finally done. I wish you were here to see it Hermione. You'd be proud at the future you inspired. And most importantly you'd be here to unlock my labs." He joked, downing the last of his scotch.

The fatigue from today was catching up to him. Never before had he felt so tired, not even after he had put down the first of what would be many supposed Dark Lords and Ladies. Closing his eyes, his head lolling back and forth as he vainly fought off the exhaustion he fell not Morpheus' embrace, but Death's welcoming arms.

* * *

When Harry awoke he had a splitting headache and for once it was not induced by blithering politicians or the alcohol they drove him to. The headache however was not his most pressing issue it was the chair that was currently sitting on. Instead of his handmade recliner inlaid with dozens of charms to make it absolutely the most comfortable thing in existence he was sitting on a hard wood chair that he knew was going to play havoc with his back come morning. He hated growing old, and once more the thought of continuing his research into age regression potion as well as creating a new philosopher's stone weighed heavily on his mind. Sighing once more, he pushed such thoughts deep within himself and locked it behind his occlumency barriers. Hermione had pretty much forbade him from ever actively seeking immortality as well as time travel after he had jokingly (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) declared that he would use such powers to rule over a global empire as an immortal God-King. He wasn't sure if it was due to her fear that he would actually concoct and follow through with such a plan or if it was because he had declared he'd take her with him and she would rule at his side as the Bellatrix to his perfectly sane and more charismatic Tom Riddle.

He just couldn't understand why Hermione had taken offense to the analogy. He'd be the first to admit that the woman was slightly unhinged, but under the veil of craziness was a beautiful woman who he was sure epitomized femininity and power. She was steadfast in her loyalty, and had things been different and had she not been betrothed to the bastard Lestrange family he was sure that she would've gone far in life, most likely because everyone above her mysteriously vanished or she turned them into a stain on the wall after a duel. Honestly if he had a woman like that by his side nothing would've been impossible. Even if he arrogantly thought nothing was impossible for him if he set his mind to it, some things sure as hell took longer than others, and a woman like Bellatrix would've certainly sped up the process.

Sighing to himself he made a mental note, "Find qualified and efficient Henchgirl." Now that his task from Hermione was completed and he would be getting back to his research he'd need a good assistant, one preferably with ambiguous morals and that wouldn't judge him too harshly. Even in death Hermione, who he fondly thought of as his sister and first assistant continued to hound him via the avatar she had made before her untimely demise. The damned thing had been imprinted with all her memories and her stalwart personality to boot, making it hard for him to carry out some of his more borderline experiments. He smiled fondly at the memory of his second year when he had gone against the basilisk.

* * *

Flashback Starts:

 _"_ _Speak to me Salazar, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four."_ Voldemort hissed. The weathered stone visage slowly opened its mouth, ancient stone creaking and grinding the sound reverberating throughout the damp and foul chamber.

The ancient basilisk prided child of Salazar Slytherin, her monstrous size easily exceeding 25 metres, quickly slithered from the old snake charmer's mouth, hissing threateningly, answering the call of its master.

 _"_ _Kill him!"_ Voldemort commanded, and the ancient creature obeyed, focusing its deadly glare on him. Calmly he stared back at the noble serpent, and its face (if one could call it that) shifted to shock.

The basilisk stared.

He stared back.

Voldemort kept yelling in Parseltongue.

They both continued to stare at one another, the Basilisk lowered her head so that they were staring directly at one another.

Harry began to frown, and the Basilisk cringed, shirking back.

Harry smiled triumphantly reaching into his robes and pulling out a runed scythe used for harvesting in one hand as well as grasping the edge of his robe in the other, opening it wide to display an assortment of tools used for processing creatures.

A shiver ran through the beast as memories long since buried burst to the surface. A young woman dressed in resplendent blue and gold robes, who used to sneak into her home when her master was distracted and would harvest parts from her, as soon as she was old enough to produce venom.

Sometimes the woman would poke and prod her with dangerous and terrifying instruments.

All the while she would be whispering in what she must've thought was a soothing voice. "It's for science and knowledge." Sometimes she wouldn't talk, instead cackling madly, as she worked her tools to remove scales and her precious venom. The fact of the matter was that every time the ancient serpent heard her voice a sense of foreboding would fill her, and she'd be petrified in fear.

" _NOT ANOTHER ROWENA!"_ The ancient queen of serpents hissed, and with surprising dexterity turned around and began slithering as fast as possible to her home, trying to get over the trauma that assaulted her from her younger years. Within seconds the beast was back in its home, and the last thing both of them saw was the creature hissing towards the statue, _"Close and Lock."_

Both Harry and Voldemort stared dumbly at the statue. Harry at the loss of valuable reagents he could've used, and Voldemort who had just seen Slytherin's prided serpent run away as memories of Rowena Ravenclaw assailed her.

"Well…" Harry began, putting away his scythe. "That didn't go as planned.

Voldemort, still in shock, could only nod dumbly. As if by some unknown signal both men snapped back to reality, as Voldemort raised Ginny's wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

A bolt of emerald flashed forth, and Harry nimbly dodged, raising his own wand. "Fiendfyre!" Harry intoned, exerting his powerful will upon the flames, shaping it into a whip that extended from his wand. With a single flick of his wrist he had it around Tom's neck, and he pulled the hellish flames searing through the soul and destroying the anchor that held it to the mortal plane.

It was only then, that Fawkes decided to show up with the Sorting Hat in tow. Reaching inside of the hat, he pulled a silver goblin crafted scythe from within, and with a manic gleam in his eye turned back to the statue of Salazar Slytherin. "BOMBARDA! BOMBARDA! BOMBARDA!" Over and over he fired the powerful bombardment curse; he would not be denied his reagents. When finally he breached all the defenses surrounding the basilisk's home, he was greeted by a sight that would forever remain lodged in his mind. A 25m-30m serpent whose very gaze was deadly was cowering in the furthest corner of the room, trying to make itself as small as possible, something that it was epically failing at. It took one look at the goblin scythe in his hand and made a break for it, attempting to flee into a pipe barely wide enough to accommodate it. "Oh no you don't." Harry sneered, conjuring a slab of iron that acted to cover the manhole. He cackled as the Basilisk attempted to attack him, before beginning what would leave Ginny Weasley with nightmares for the rest of her life, and would forever destroy her crush on the boy-who lived.

Good times. He grinned. Afterwards he had decided it was time to wake Hermione up, and boy was she angry when she awoke, having been the recipient of his experimental Mandrake potion.

Flashback Ends:

* * *

From there her attempts to keep him in line evolved to the point that her nagging surpassed that of the Weasley Matron.

"No Harry! You can't test a mass hallucinogen on the student body."

The time that she had barged into his lab where his test subject, a Hufflepuff first year, was strapped to an operating table. "Release the firstie Harry! Contrary to your beliefs you cannot cut them open no matter the amount of money that their parents accepted. They are this country's future and are not as expendable as you think."

His all-time favorite though had to have been when he had discovered the dragons to be used during the First Task of the the Triwizard Tournament. "No Harry, you cannot build a satellite weapon that conjures boulders and drops them on your enemies. First off I don't think you have enough time to do so, and secondly I don't think the judges would appreciate being hit by a cataclysmic attack that would probably plunge the world into a new ice age. Should they somehow survive I'm pretty sure that they would take points off for killing the dragon, destroying whatever you need to retrieve, and almost killing them.

Eventually he had broken her down and she gave in to his more harmless ideas, such as randomly coating Dumbledore's lemon drops in either Ghost Chili extract, LSD, or a mixture of both. She had even joined in one time when he decided to test a new tranquilizer, she had especially appreciated him painting her blowgun bright pink, on Professor Umbridge. Results of the test varied from instantly subduing the toad like woman, to causing mild fits of hysteria and insanity. By the time he finished refining the drug he had managed to eliminate just about all of the pesky side effects though he had never managed to solve the problem associated with the memory wiping aspect that left the target unable to control their drooling.

Shaking his head in amusement he made a second mental note to construct a special pensieve where he could store all his memories of their time together. He sometimes looked back on those memories, remembering the first time he had met Hermione, all those years ago. No matter what may have happened, no matter how dangerous the school had gotten as he stepped over the threshold, looking back he there was no point that he would truly say that he was unlucky.

No Hermione, his sister had changed his life for the better always by his side, even in death. Most days he tried to forget the past, running from the death that trailed after him. Looking back wasn't going to help him, therefore moving forward was the only thing that he could do.

Opening his eyes, he was greeted not by the sight of a roaring hearth, nor the ancient walls of his castle but by an endless void as far as the eye could see. A new question surfaced in his mind of equal priority to why he was sitting on a hardback chair. "Where in the Seven Hells am I?"


	9. A Helping Hand

Author's Note: Had to take a break from writing my other stories as my Muse was intoxicated. Decided to work on this which actually has a very good chance of being turned into a full length story.

* * *

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore called, his voice echoing throughout the Great Hall.

Numbly he had gotten up and headed to the antechamber with the other champions. He was aware of the glares that the other students were shooting him, of the jeers and taunts that accompanied his every step. He had experienced it enough during the Chamber of Secret incident two years ago, and he was well aware of the mercurial nature of the sheeple that made up the Wizarding World.

It was in the antechamber that Bagman and Crouch confirmed his worst fears, he would have no choice but to compete in this ridiculous tournament or he would be stripped of his magic.

When he had arrived back at the Gryffindor Common Room he was greeted by mix feelings. On one hand were those who cheered for him, led by the infamous Weasley Twins who had tried to enter themselves to hilarious consequences. The other faction that thought he was lying and trying to hog all the glory was a minority in the House of the Brave, but it hurt him to see that it was led by his former friend Ron Weasley.

Weasley had tried to start something with him, calling him a glory hog, and attention seeker. When Harry ignored him the red headed ignoramus tried to punch him, only to get laid out by Harry who had years of experience fighting bullies.

 _People died during this tournament Harry._ The voice of his best friend, Hermione, told him. He knew that the competition was made for adult wizards and that for a fourth year student even one that had faced off dark creatures like he had would be ill prepared to compete.

As the party was winding down, he went to his dorm room and packed up all his things, and after shrinking his trunk and putting it in his pocket he headed back to the common room.

Catching the eye of his best friend he gestured towards the door, and walked out.

"Harry!" Hermione called. "It's after hours; we need to be back inside."

"Hermione." Harry called. She must've heard something in his voice as she stopped short of bringing him back in. "I'm scared, Mia."

She hugged him tightly rubbing a reassuring hand on his back. "We'll get through this tournament like we always have. Together."

"Together." Harry repeated. "Come with me."

Taking out his invisibility cloak he wrapped it around them before opening the Marauder's map.

A part of her was ashamed that it had taken so long to figure out where Harry was leading her, as she thought she had memorized all the ways possible to reach the library. Coming upon the locked double doors that barred entrance she asked, "Harry, what are we doing here?"

"Ever since Dumbledore announced the Tournament that first night, I had a feeling that I'd be dragged into it." Harry said, waving his wand in an intricate pattern. A shimmering wall appeared in front of the door.

"What is that?" She asked, mesmerized by the colors.

"A ward to prevent entry and to alert Madam Pince should someone fail to properly dismantle it." Harry answered. "I talked to Bill Weasley when he came to the Burrow, and he told me a few simple tricks every Curse-Breaker needs." Waving his wand once more, he began to dismantle the simple barrier. After a few minutes the entire thing collapsed in on itself, and he opened the double doors with a simple unlocking spell. "Knowing that I might get dragged into this, I began to prepare."

"Harry, this is the restricted section!" Hermione hissed, as her friend cast another spell to disarm the alert wards on the section.

"I know." He answered. "The book we need is behind this door."

"How do you know that?" She asked, startled when he laughed and waved his hand dismissively.

"Hermione you are without a doubt the smartest witch of our generation, but when it comes to exploring and combat magics even you have to admit that I surpass you." Harry said. "I've come here many times and browsed through the stacks."

He froze feeling her glare. Turning he saw the anger and betrayal as well as desire in her eyes. "You've had access to the library all this time and you haven't taken me?" She snarled.

He gulped. "I'm sorry." He stammered, flinching as she jabbed a finger into his chest.

"From now on you're taking me with you any time you decide to explore." She smiled threateningly.

"Of course." He promised, letting loose a whoop of excitement as the final barriers fell. He quickly dragged her over to a certain shelf and took a book off it. "We need to go now."

"But-"

"I know what you're going to say, and I promise that you can browse the stacks tomorrow night, but for now I need your help."

"Fine." She sighed, letting him lead her to another part of the castle. Seeing the familiar looking bathroom a feeling of dread shot down her spine. "Harry is this?"

"It is." He said. _§Open§_

The sinks moved to reveal a gaping abyss, the entrance to the infamous Chamber of the Secrets. _§Stairs§_

A grinding sound, stone on stone echoed through the room as stairs slowly began to appear. Leading Hermione down into the central chamber, twice calling for the doors to open, he steeled his resolve.

"Harry?" She asked hesitantly. "When you said you needed my help, you didn't mean as a sacrifice right?"

"Don't be silly." He scoffed. "If I needed a virgin sacrifice I would've brought Ron with us. Merlin knows that his wife would need to be blind to not be disgusted by his eating habits."

Hermione couldn't help but giggle, as Harry put the book down on the floor, and knelt next to it. "So why are we here?"

"I told you how I was afraid that I might get dragged into this competition." He said, and after seeing her nod continued. "People a lot more experienced and prepared have died in this competition. What hope can an underage wizard, a fourth year student have in a competition like this."

"But Dumbledore said that there would be safety measures in place."

"I'm not exactly trusting of the old man's word right now." Harry explained. "Especially since he has continually stated that Hogwarts is perfectly safe, and I've almost died no less than three times so far."

Hermione had no response to that seeing as she had been there during each one of those encounters. "So why do you need this book?" He smiled and motioned for her to knees next to him.

"One night I was browsing through the stacks looking for a way to augment my magic." Harry began. "When all of a sudden this book fell on my head."

"Seriously." Hermione deadpanned.

"Dead serious." He nodded, stroking the cover. "The Truth of the Alaya by Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg."

"Alaya?"

"According to the author Alaya is the sentient entity that governs the World. It is the collective unconsciousness of mankind, the drive for survival. It seeks to prevent mankind's extinction normally by indirectly guiding and empowering certain individuals to eliminate a threat."

"And when that fails?"

He shuddered remembering what he had read. "Then Alaya deploys something called the Beasts of Alaya, forces beyond our power that not only eliminate the threat but eliminate everything with all the precision of a sledgehammer."

"What does the book have to do with the Tournament?" Hermione asked.

"In it the author goes into great detail about how certain people normally heroes after dying are removed from the cycle of rebirth in order to ascend and become heroic spirits. These heroic spirits have achieved great deeds in life and have become objects of worship after their death."

"Like Merlin!?" Hermione cried triumphantly

"Exactly!" He exclaimed. "Anyway after they die they are moved to an area called the Throne of Heroes which is a metaphysical place that exists outside of time. Each of these Heroic Spirits is a unique existence who possesses qualities that no one else has possessed."

Opening the book up he skimmed through it until he found a certain chapter. From her spot she could see the title. **The Summoning and Binding of Heroic Spirits.** "Harry! Summoning Rituals are illegal!"

"Only demon summoning rituals." He reassured. "And even then I'm protected against prosecution due to the rules put in place to protect the Champions."

"Still, what we're doing is immoral, not to mention something that we really shouldn't be dabbling in."

"What choice do I have!" He snarled. "I'm seriously outmatched right now. Krum has a large repertoire of spells, not to mention Durmstrang teaches their students the Dark Arts. Not just the British system of Dark Arts which doesn't discriminate against Grey and Dark, but the real Dark Arts. Stuff that you wouldn't dream of in your worst nightmares, spells that make the Unforgivables look tame. Delacour from what I could find out is a Charms prodigy and that's saying something considering Beauxbatons has been putting out the best charms masters in the past two centuries. And Diggory…well I'm not too sure but he's a seventh year so he probably knows more than I do."

"Still, you know all the stories that they've told us. Summoning is never the way to go."

"It's the only way now." He said determinedly. "Even with any training you give me there's no way that I can catch up to the other competitors. At this point winning isn't even a possibility, Hell I'd settle for being able to make it to the winner's podium alive."

She was silent. The only sound in the chamber being the steady dripping of water, and the rustling of pages as Harry read through the book. After a few minutes she made her decision. "What do we need to do?"

He smiled as he rummaged in his pockets. "What we're doing isn't summoning a True Heroic Spirit with all their powers, as that's impossible. Instead we're going to summon the spirit's essence and use me as a temporary vessel to house it."

"ARE YOU CRAZY?" She demanded freezing. "YOU WANT TO HOUSE THE SPIRIT WITHIN YOU?"

"That's what I said." Harry said tiredly rubbing his head. "This way I'll take on aspects of the Heroic Spirit, including increased strength endurance, agility, etc."

"This is a bad idea." Hermione warned, looking over the formalcraft circle inscribed in the book.

"I have no choice but to do this if I want to survive." Harry sighed, pulling out a piece of chalk. He first began by drawing a large unbroken circle which would determine the area of the spell. A second circle was inscribed within, followed by a third circle like shape that had semi-circles at north, south, east and west. After the three circle like shapes were done he placed a fourth inside followed by drawing a star. At the north-west, north-east, south-west, and south-east position he drew another set of circles. Within the star was another circle followed by a shape that looked like a crescent moon connected to another circle with a different diameter. Now that, that was all completed he began writing down the runes required, tweaking them in accordance with the book.

"What am I doing here." Hermione asked.

"You're here as an observer, and just in case things go badly." Harry said stepping into the circle that acted as a boundary for the star. "Here we go."

"Good luck." Hermione wished, stepping back away from the blast zone. The outer circle should protect her and trap any magical emissions, but she wasn't taking any chances as she took cover behind a pillar.

Clearing his throat he cut his palm and began to recite the necessary chant. "Heed my words! My words creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny. Heeding the Call of Prophecy, obey my will and reason, answer my summoning. I hereby swear to embody all the good in the world, that I shall defeat all evil in the world, and let thing eyes be clouded with the fog or turmoil and chaos. Thou who art trapped in a cage of madness, and I the summoner who holds thine chains. Seventh heaven clad in the great words of power, come forth to this circle of binding, Guardian of scales."

The circle lit up at his words, flooding with enormous amounts of power, draining him at a rapid pace. He could feel every one of his nerves burning as his veins feeling like his blood had been replaced with molten metals. The pain was excruciating, driving him to his knees. In a distant part of his mind he could hear Hermione calling out to him, only to be rebuffed as the circle wouldn't allow her to come closer.

In the haze that blanketed his mind he saw a figure, whether it was male or female he didn't know, shrouded in mist. "Magus, ye who dares to intrude upon my domain. Realize the price that your arrogance has enacted, and know that only prophecy protects you from my wrath. Do not try to reach this place again, or even that will not protect you from me." Saying that the figure thrust their hand into his chest and ripped out a sliver of golden light. He cried out in pain as the figure continued to speak. "Know that you belong to me from now on."

The figure faded, only to be replaced by another one. Once more everything about the figure was hidden, and the only way he could differentiate between the two was the voice.

A feminine one that boasted power and wisdom spoke to him. "Abiding the summons to form a contract with the blessings of the World. I ask of thee, Art thou my Master?"

* * *

Please read and review. Tell me who you think the first spirit is, and who do you think the Servant that Harry summoned is.

* * *

 **Challenge Information**

When his name is pulled from the Goblet of Fire and he is forced to compete, Harry Potter doesn't mess around. He knows he isn't qualified or powerful enough to survive this Tournament on his own, so using a handy little book found in the library, Harry performs an ancient ritual to call for a helping hand. He really should have read the fine print first.

 **Requirements:** Possessed Harry.

The Spirit that Harry summons must take residence in his body to help him win the Tournament – _and then it gets stuck_.

Despite being possessed, it's still _Harry_ that competes in the Three Tasks.

Harry and the Spirit must have conflicting moralities/alignments at first _(e.g. Light vs Dark, Order vs Chaos)_.

In an utterly cliché way, while the Spirit teaches Harry something, Harry in turn teaches the Spirit things.

 **Morality:** Any.

 **Pairing:** Any.

 **Forbidden:** The Spirit completely taking over.

The Spirit being exorcized.

Weak Harry.

 **Suggestions:** Crossovers.

Dark Lord Harry.

The Spirit manifests only for Harry to see, but is invisible to other people.


	10. Psyche Assassin

Inspired by The Assassin's Brother by The Darkest Soul, The Raven's Anger by oso1991, and some recent talks going on in Caer Azkaban. This is also an answer to The Modern Sorcerer's challenge Psyche

* * *

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

The sound of leather and wood hit the marbled floor at a rhythmic pace.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right.

The cadence was never broken as the teen continued his journey through the decadent halls. He wore a wide smile on his handsome face, framed by raven hair and accented with piercing green eyes.

Several of the bratok seeing his smile immediately froze before rapidly moving out of the way, their backs pressed against the walls as if making way for a King. No one dared to close within a meter of him.

His perfectly tailored 3-piece bespoke suit barely rustled as he moved, the only sound besides the clacking of his shoes was the slight jangle of the gold chain on his waist, and a squelching sound trailed after him.

A canvas bag dragged after him, something that no one questioned.

Approaching the heavy oaken doors flanked by a dozen bratok, he gave them a stiff nod, before stopping in front of the doors. One knocked against the sturdy wood, before announcing him in rapid Russian. A minute later the same bratok removed his head from the doorframe, before commanding in heavily accented English. "Remove any weapons."

Raising his brow he opened jacket revealing an array of daggers as well as a single pistol under his left arm. Slowly and deliberately he removed the weapons, glaring at the grunt who came forward to take them. "Those are more valuable than your life." He smiled. Just as he was about to take a step towards the door a hand shot out.

"All of them." The bratok who had entered the door said.

Huffing, he removed his jacket, the bullet and stab resistant garment going to the outstretched arm. Undoing the French cuff he removed a length of black string the width of his pinkie, the garrote joined the growing pile of weapons. After going over him several times with a metal detector he was cleared to enter.

Moments later the door opened to reveal an opulent room dominated by a massive rectangular table capable of holding 18 people comfortably.

At his entrance 16 pairs of eyes turned towards him, as a 17th pair merely raised a brow before glancing at the antique clock to the side of the room. Ignoring everyone but the man that sat at the head of the table, he walked forward keeping his eyes forward and level. When he was within arm's reach he dropped down to a knee and bowed his head.

The man simply held out his hand, and with practiced ease he kissed the ring on the hand before standing up and taking three steps back. "Mr. Valery."

"You're late." A gruff voice to his right said. Casting a glance he merely smiled patronizingly at the elderly right hand of the Boss in front of him.

"My dear man, you'll find that a wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to."

"So the disrespect is intentional?" The elderly man asked raising a single brow. "You were invited here as a courtesy to your teacher."

"Really?" He answered raising his own brow at the man. "And here I thought it was because of my razor wit and charming good looks." You could've heard a pin drop as the gathered capos stared at him in disbelief. "No?" His expression fell at the severe looks he was getting. "Tough crowd."

"Why are you late?" Mr. Valery asked, turning his piercing eyes towards him.

"My teacher and I hit a bit of a snag with the job you gave us." He explained, and seeing the disbelief on the Boss' face he reassured the man. "Nothing that we couldn't handle, but it took longer than we originally expected." It was then that the Boss noticed the crimson canvas sack.

"I see." The man answered, waving his hand forward for the young man to bring the bag up.

"A gift, Tovarishch." The young man grinned. "With this the Bratva will enter a new age."

Taking the ribbon off the top of the sack, he felt a moment of elation at the shock. Valery, head of the Russian Bratva, bore a striking resemblance to the decapitated head on the table.

"An age in which you will be nothing more than a footnote at the bottom of history." The young man smiled, snapping his fingers dispelling the illusion over the entire room. The altered perception he had been projecting, making everyone think that he was someone to trust implicitly was destroyed. "And thus the final act begins."

"What?" The right hand man of the Russian mafia asked.

"Who are you?" Mr. Valery demanded reaching for his pistol.

"Smért." With that he reaching behind him, drawing an obsidian knife and plunging it into right hand man's heart. Twisting the blade he dragged it across the man's chest before pulling it free and stabbing it through the Russian kingpin's hand.

"Stop." He commanded his voice instilling the command within every member of the room. Turning towards the other captains who had jumped to their feet, his emerald eyes meeting each man's, and after a few moments in unison each captain drew their sidearm, and all the while smiling began to shoot the man across from them. To them pain and pleasure were reversed and the more they were filled with lead the greater the ecstasy, the pleasure being enough to keep them standing as they emptied the entire magazine into their friend. However not even that was enough to keep them standing once all 20 rounds had been emptied into their forms, and they collapsed to the floor grinning dementedly at the high they were experiencing.

"Bene." The teen smiled, his voice now betraying him and showing his Italian accent. "Now then…what shall I do about you?" Once all the captains had been dealt with he turned back to the boss, and gripping the obsidian knife slowly dragged it through the hand, ruining it even if the man had access to immediate medical assistance.

The stoic Russian held in his screams as the young man carved up the appendage. "Tch. Here I was hoping for a bit more of a reaction." The teen clicked his tongue as he leaned over and reaching into the man's jacket removed his pistol. "Pistolet Tokareva obraztsa 1930 goda." The teen commented. Ejecting the magazine, he raised an elegantly sculpted brow at the paralyzed crime boss. "Incendiary…really? One would think that you were overcompensating for something." Slamming the magazine back home, he took a seat across from the man, and reaching into his jacket removed a cigarillo from a silver case. "I'm sure you have questions for me." He began, his hand diving back into his pocket and pulling free a zippo. "However I'm sorry to say that I won't be answering any."

Flicking his wrist he opened the lighter. "Frankly I'm not being paid enough to do this job, nor do I have the patience to explain in vivid detail what exactly I'm about to do." Placing a thumb on the flint wheel, he leaned in, the tip of his cigarillo posed over the eyelet. Spinning the wheel with the pad of his thumb, he immediately regretted being this close, as the fire flared to life larger than what he had expected. As expected the cigarillo ignited with ease but he could also feel the flames take the very edges of his eyebrows off. As calmly as he could he backed the lighter off, ignoring the smug look of the Russian gangster. "Seems I need to trim the wick a little." He observed, closing the lighter and placing it back in his pocket. "Oh well. Now that, that's that, here's what I'm supposed to say to you, straight from the Don himself." Clearing his throat, he tried his best to emulate the gruff tone of voice that the man favored. "Alyona, says hello." Raising the pistol he aimed it between the Russian Gangster's widened eyes. "And goodbye."

Crack!

The heavy pistol went unleashing its 7.62x25mm payload, the bullet blowing a hole straight through the man's head. "Probably shouldn't have missed all those birthdays." He casually remarked towards the corpse. "Aren't families great?" Dropping the barrier that surrounded the room, he placed the gun in the hand of the former right hand man, as he placed the obsidian knife in Valery's hand. Making sure not to touch the corpse, he gestured with his hand the body rigidly moving as he properly positioned the actors. Once that was done he had the man's second in command place the gun against his chest.

"Goodbye, Mr. Valery." The teen said tipping his nonexistent hat. With a snap of his fingers the gun pressed against the body fired one last shot, the sound drawing the guards outside to come rushing in, weapons at the ready.

"Ruki v vozdukhe!" One of the remaining Bratoks shouted. The rest were staring at the carnage, the devastation that was their entire upper leadership.

"I don't think so." The teen smiled, taking a single step towards them. Weapons came up as they took aim at his lithe form.

"Ruki v vozdukhe!" They commanded, fingers slipping from being held straight across the trigger guard to nervously touching the triggers.

His smile grew wider, terrifying the assembled gangsters as their deepest fears were forced to surface through their mind. "Boo."

Screaming fingers squeezed the triggers as quickly as they could, as firing pins slammed home, igniting the potent charge and releasing the bullet at varying speeds. Faster than even their fingers could pull the trigger a hand came up, the bullet colliding with an invisible barrier before hanging there motionless. Over and over the same trick was repeated as the bullets stopped before they were able to harm the teen.

This didn't stop the Bratoks though as fear dominated their mind, and it was only after they had expended every bullet in every magazine they carried on them did they stop. "They never learn." He gently chastised, reveling in the fear radiating from them. In front of him was every bullet that the Bratoks had fired at him, hovering silently, just waiting for the command to attack. "A pity." Tapping one of the bullets on the nose, it and every one of its partners reversed course and shredded the offending Bratoks in a lethal metal storm. Their grisly job done the bullets remained in the corpses, as he held out his hands, the weapons that he checked in with the Bratok earlier floating back eagerly, the spirit of each braying for blood, eager to be used by his artistic hands. Securing everything but his pistol, held loosely in his right hand, he continued through the Kill House. With his right hand he fired, his bullets never missing, always striking with fatal accuracy, and with his left he stopped any bullets that dared to strike against him. Those same bullets were then returned to their senders with all the fury of Artemis firing her bow. He sang a song to himself as he continued his grisly work, the barriers around the building preventing anyone from escaping. With their Leader and Captains dead, it was left to the middle-rank gangsters to rally the men in an attempt to kill him. These were the men that he killed first, his unerring aim putting a 5.7mmx28 bullet through their head. The rest he shredded with their own fired bullets, returning them with all the fury of a wrathful god. He wasn't here to do subtle, instead to send a message, and what a message it was. By the time he had worked his way back down to the ground floor, the walls had been painted red with blood, and it flowed on the marble floor like a river. Taking a look at the atrium, at the bodies that lay posed in death, he couldn't help but nod at his handiwork. With a final look he took a single step forward, his entire body disappearing into tiny motes of light.

* * *

To those who lived near the old hotel, gunfire was not something unique. Children grew up hearing it and by the time they grew to be teens they had been so desensitized to the sound that they could completely tune it out while carrying on a conversation.

However today was different.

Normally it would only be a single shot fired, or at most a single magazine. In the beginning when they had first been fighting for ground skirmishes between the various gangs was common and the night would be punctuated by the constant staccato of automatic fire. That hadn't happened in a long time…not since the Bratvas managed to solidify their position.

For the first time in memory the air was rent by the constant screams of gunfire, men and women screaming in Russian only for the sound to turn into a wet gurgle before ultimately being silenced.

When the sound of gunfire stopped those living near the hotel pulled themselves off the ground and went about their business, uncaring about the fate that befell the gangsters. They paid their tithe, and weren't harassed at all; in fact except for the monthly payment the two factions, criminal and law-abiding, completely ignored one another.

In fact it would be two days later before the people began to notice something off about the old hotel, namely the smell. From the Neighborhood Council a single brace soul was sent (read: forcibly volunteered), chosen for his skills (read: expendability) he was given the arduous task of knocking on the hotel doors and finding out what happened to their criminal overlords.

Cautiously approaching the hotel, he gently knocked on the door, hoping for someone to answer it. If they did then everything was fine, but if they didn't…well he didn't even want to think about that. His knocking opened the door, and the scent of death and shit assailed his nose, causing him to vomit on the curb. He saw them, the dead glassy eyes staring forever. Mouths screaming in pain and agony as they faced the entrance, looking as if they were fleeing from something. Their skin, what was left of it was grey and flaking off as maggots and insects burrowed through their bodies, each making a home in the single hole punched through each of their skulls.

"Shit." The man said rapidly backing out of the hotel and reaching into his pocket for his phone.

A half hour later a sergeant and 7 patrol officers of NYPD were knocking on the door, and after one look the man had one thing to say. "Fuck."

10 minutes later detectives from every division of the Organized Crime Control Bureau were on their way as the sergeant on scene was directing his men to set up a perimeter. Within 20 minutes detectives were combing the area, as the perimeter was secured and the sergeant began recording everyone on scene. 45 minutes into it a Detective Lieutenant had taken command, and was calling in several squads each consisting of a sergeant and 7 Patrol Officers. By this time forensics was on scene and so far the results made him want to scream in rage. The entire leadership of the Bratva, every made man, every captain and their Leader were all lying dead in the building. Whoever had done this had gutted the entire hierarchy of the Russian Brotherhood and it would be impossible for them to recover. The last and most important person to arrive had been the captain and when he was briefed on the situation both orally and verbally two thoughts dominated his mind.

Shit had hit the fan.

This would be a media circus.

And how right he was. The media in their infinite snoopiness had gotten wind of the scene just as the forensic teams arrived, and he had a line of reporters braying for answer in front of his mobile command center. Turning to his command staff he handed one of them the dreaded jacket that bore the stitching of Public Information Officer in bright eye catching colors and sent him out to the wolves.

His four Section Chiefs were arguing with one another, or in reality it was the Operations Chief arguing with the Logistics Chief and Finance/Admin Chief while the Planning Chief was reading a report and trying not to smile at his fellow Chiefs Antics. He was siding with Logistics and Finance, as he didn't see the need for an Air Ops unit when they were in the middle of a city and there would be no place for a chopper to land anywhere near them. Not to mention the fact that everyone on scene was dead and wouldn't need to be airlifted for medical evacuation anytime soon.

Still that didn't stop the man from trying to get a unit on standby.

What caught his eye however was the young woman that was sitting across from him. Officially she had been attached to his department as an observer, merely here to watch and give her opinions when asked, but he knew differently. She was just waiting, looking for a crime that breached their local jurisdiction, so that her and her Federal friends could swoop in and seize control of his cases.

And no that wasn't him being paranoid.

It had happened before to him and he had heard stories from other chiefs. He could almost see the gears turning in her head as the facts of the case were gone over. When they mentioned that it had been the Bratva decimated he could see the lightbulb going off in her head as she reached into her grey jacket that she wore over a similarly colored dress that reached down to her knees.

He already knew what was going to happen as she pulled out a bi-fold wallet and with a flick of her wrist revealed the gold shield that he was dreading. "As this case has repercussions that reach across state lines we will be taking over."

"On what basis?" The Captain asked, trying to keep the case within his jurisdiction.

"Why, my Captain?" The young woman said almost patronizingly. "This case deals with the Bratva. You know the Russian Mafia infamous for having their fingers in criminal pies across the continental US. The same ones who are responsible for bringing in a good amount of the drugs that are circulating the streets now, as well as running prostitution rings and human trafficking. Now someone's gone and gutted the entire organization's Eastern Leadership, I don't know about you but another crime war will probably be breaking out as the various other gangs squabble over their territory." She shook her bushy head, the brown locks cascading down her face. "I expect the change of command to be given both verbally as well as written, within the hour."

Before he could protest she continued. "Don't worry though Captain, we'll make sure to keep you and your…officers…appraised of the situation." The smirk that she had spoke volumes, as she got up from her seat. "Continue securing the perimeter and interviewing the witnesses. Have forensics document and photograph every inch of the scene."

Just as she was about to move towards the door, a forensic technician opened the door, tablet in hand. The man didn't even have a chance to speak before the tablet was ripped out of his hands, and the young woman stared at the picture with a cruel and animalistic smile. "Aquila." She said, her voice laced with excitement.

She threw her head back and laughed as she slapped the tablet back into the techs hand and walked out of the Mobile Command Center.

"Who was that?" The startled technician asked.

"Hermione Granger, the absolute worst agent that the Feds could've stuck us with." The Captain replied grimly, staring at the golden eagle figure that was on the tablet.


End file.
